


the world won’t end, i’m with you

by moonlith



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Exes, Exes to Something, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Yuta is a little shit, a storm is involved, doyoung is frustrated about a lot of things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlith/pseuds/moonlith
Summary: Doyounghatesdislikes a lot of things in general. But tonight, three specific things shoot on the top of his list: 1.)delayedcancelled flights, 2.) the PacificfuckingOcean, and 3.)the love of his lifehis ex, Nakamoto Yuta.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 21
Kudos: 133





	the world won’t end, i’m with you

**Author's Note:**

> hello beautiful people.
> 
> like everything else i came up with, i did this one mostly on a whim HAH. i adore doyu with my everything. i love their dynamic irl and it sucks cause their tags go asleep for days T^T so here i am contributing cause no one will stop me heh. don't worry it's not _that_ angsty (i think HAHA)
> 
> hope u enjoy! :]
> 
> p.s. the title is loosely inspired by the song 'i don't wanna watch the world end with someone else' by clinton kane :>  
> p.p.s. please ignore the typos. my eyes are spinning while im trying to edit this at 2am lmao

**Present Day.**

Doyoung’s trip is fucked. He knew it immediately when the unease stirred in his gut the moment the wheels of the plane lifted from the ground. He has always denied being a pessimist, but what can he do? His gut has always been his trusted friend, and right now, it’s saying one thing: _This trip? Fucked._ If sitting in the aisle seat beside a loud snorer on a four-hour flight isn’t enough evidence, then perhaps the rest of the trip is.

For starters, throughout the entire flight, the seat belt sign was turned on more than it was off. The loud snorer seatmate also turned out to be a messy eater. By the third hour, a “minor turbulence,” as the pilot announced, got their aircraft bouncing midair and Doyoung clutching the armrests for his life. His heart was racing and if he wasn’t shitscared, he’d have marched into the cockpit by now to put the pilot in a chokehold and say, “You fucking liar. You call this _minor?!”_

Unfortunately (or fortunately, whatever), they landed safely before he even got the chance. Doyoung has never been so glad to set foot on solid land.

While waiting for his things in baggage pick up, he whips out his phone and tries to refresh his memory of the travel details. The entire thing was made complicated by the fact that his stingy firm would rather have him hustle through the annoying airport buzz and connecting flights than to spend a few extra thousand wons for a direct travel.

Doyoung sighs to himself as he makes a little computation in his head. 20 hours just to get Sydney. Twenty! Hours! With two layovers. Holy fuck. Suddenly, he wonders why he ever thought travelling overseas for an architecture conference ever sounded like a good idea. It’s not like he’s not grateful. He is! But he did have some plans at home. 

Besides, he wasn’t even the first pick. Taeil was the original representative, but he was recruited for an important project in Cheongdam-dong at the last minute. Through his recommendation, all eyes turned to Doyoung, his _hubae,_ fellow senior architect, and, according to Taeyong, the “Miranda Priestly from Devil Wears Prada (in the making) of Korean architecture.” Doyoung simply respects Taeil too much to decline the offer.

Now, he’s here in Manila, exiting the arrival gates of the crowded airport, a not so discreet “holy shit” escaping from his lips. Something is wrong, his gut says. The airport is buzzing, alright. People are zooming all around, some frantic, some frustrated, some just straight out tired. Doyoung hasn’t been to a lot of airports but he’s pretty sure the current population in this space is greater than normal. 

He goes to the flight announcement board just to double check. His brain takes a split second to recognize the alphabet, but the color red is enough of a tell. The entire screen is bleeding, and when the words finally register—dozens of _Cancelled_ under Flight Status _—_ Doyoung almost wishes to bleed too.

He marches through the crowd until he finds his airline’s check-in counter. He falls to the back of the shortest line, left foot tapping and right fingers drumming in impatience. It takes about eight minutes until he gets to the front of the line.

“Good evening, sir,” the attendant says, a woman who seems no older than her early thirties, holding herself with the discipline and elegance of an airline staff. (Sad to see all that finess get crushed by Doyoung in just a few moments.) She reaches for his tickets. Doyoung hands them, almost harshly. “To Sydney?”

Doyoung doesn’t have time for bullshit. “Cancelled?” he says in English.

Her smile wavers a little. “Unfortunately, sir,” she replies. She then begins to explain something about… something. Doyoung can’t keep up with it. She’s speaking too fast, as if reciting from a script. When he asks her to repeat, he could swear she swallowed a sigh. “I’m afraid all flights to and from Manila have been cancelled.”

Doyoung clenches his jaw. Of course, he knows _that._ The question comes out of his mouth with the bitchiest tone. “Why the hell?”

The attendant seems to be used to seeing attitude. She’s not at all fazed. “A storm is currently raging outside. Air travel is currently not advisable. We are extremely sorry for the inconvenience, but we ask a little—”

Doyoung slams a fist on the counter, his hand almost seemingly moving on its own. Whether it was from stress or fatigue or sleep deprivation, he’s not sure. His reasons have flown out of the window. “Listen.” His nostrils flare. “I did not sit through a four-hour hell flight and got through some death defying turbulence just to be told that this shit weather is not advisable to fly in. That’s _bullshit_.”

“I’m really sorry, sir. There’s nothing we can do. Weather systems have suspended all flights, and the runways are now closed.” She taps away on her screen as she spoke, clearly unamused.

“I have to get to Sydney by tomorrow!” Doyoung insists as if that would change anything. The conference starts two days from now, but he still has to check in the hotel, get ready for the event, and catch some brain sleep. 

“I could give you a nonstop flight to Sydney leaving 6:15AM tomorrow. Would that be alright?”

Doyoung dies a little inside. “6 in the morning?!” he echoes. It’s only 7:32PM on his watch, but that’s still set to Korean time. He consults his phone, hoping the time zone difference means that 6AM is sooner than it sounds, but the world clock says: _Manila, 6:32PM._ “Oh, fuck me,” he mumbles. “There _has_ to be an earlier flight.”

“I’m afraid not,” the attendant replies.

“How long is a nonstop flight to Sydney?”

“On average, about 8 to 9 hours.”

Twelve hours to wait, plus 8 to 9 hours travel time. It’s almost as if Doyoung is departing from Seoul all over again. He groans loudly, earning him a couple of glares from the people behind him.

“Should I arrange it, sir?”

“Yeah, fine,” he sighs. “I don’t seem to have other choices.”

“You could have your luggages checked in if you want,” she offers.

Doyoung exhales sharply. “Then what?”

“The airlines will be providing you with an accommodation for free, but I’m afraid—”

“You’re afraid what? You seem to be afraid a lot,” Doyoung mumbles to himself, but from the way he caught the attendant glaring, he was pretty sure she heard.

“I’m _afraid_ ,” she says again. Doyoung could tell she was trying not to roll her eyes. “all the nearby hotels are almost fully booked and we want to cater to as many passengers as possible, which means you’ll have to—”

“Oh, fuck no!” Doyoung snaps. He could feel it, the rise of his blood pressure, the sudden increase in temperature around him, and the frustration clawing its way out of his throat. Nothing that’s about to come out of his mouth has undergone any sort of thought process. “You will not make me share a room. That should be illegal. God, this is _outrageous!_ I had to sit through a stupid storm _then_ wait for another twelve goddamn hours, and you’re gonna make me share a room with a _stranger?_ Do you have a senior officer around here? I’ll have a talk with them. I’d rather have the shittiest room, for all I care. Fuck’s sake.”

“ _Sir._ Calm down.” The attendant looks at him pointedly. She’s been calling his attention for about the tenth time in the past two minutes. “First of all, _I’m_ a senior officer. I understand you are frustrated as these are not the best circumstances. But the service you are receiving right now is protocol. I did not mention anything about sharing a room. We have Air BnBs, and if you so please, the airport lounge is also available. We are trying to fit people into accommodations. So _please._ ” Despite her smile, her eyes burned with such authority that it almost—just _almost—_ made Doyoung want to back down. “Are you travelling alone or not?”

He’s just about to answer but someone beats him to it. “He’s not.” 

Oh fuck.

The voice sends a chill over Doyoung’s spine. He freezes. It’s all too familiar, the distinct melodic tune and the sharp Japanese accent. Doyoung finds himself muttering “No, no, no, no.” But apparently, tonight, his fate seems to be handled by a teenager, laughing at him, saying _‘yes, yes, yes, yes. suxx for u hahaha xD.’_

It comes again, that voice, now uttering his nickname. “Hey, Dons,” it says, and it makes him ball his fist. He hasn’t been called that since the friends he’d known from college abandoned him two years ago, when things started falling apart. 

_Fucking hell._ This can’t be happening.

But then he feels his sleeve touching another’s and he recognizes the overbearing presence of someone he knew too well. Finally, Doyoung dares himself a look. He tries not to let the disbelief slip into his voice, but it’s hard when the moment in itself is enough reason to be incredulous.

“Yuta,” he mutters bitterly, and because he was raised nicely, he adds, “hyung.”

Doyoung is positive his mind is short circuiting. Every single one of his brain cells are screaming strings of repeated _fuck, fuck, fuck_. The man in front of him looks nothing like the one he fell in love with seven years ago, and yet… he still so undeniably is.

What used to be messy, long, brown hair is now in a clean cut, dyed so black it’s almost blue. His forehead is exposed, something Doyoung used to bargain a lot for. His usual black jeans-graphic tee-black denim jacket combo is now just a white button down and black slacks. _Slacks._ Nakamoto “I’m so cool, I don’t care” Yuta is wearing slacks. Doyoung is convinced he’s a stranger.

But then Yuta flashes him a grin. And just… _fuck_ that smile, really. Fuck that perfect shape of lips, always lighting up his eyes, ever so disarming. It’s fucking ridiculous that with everything that has changed, it’s the part of Yuta’s face that Doyoung loved the most that just had to stay the same. _Goddammit_ , the younger thinks to himself.

Yuta glances at the attendant. “He’s not travelling alone,” he repeats, before turning to Doyoung, a smirk playing on his lips. “You forgot me at baggage pickup.”

 _I forgot you a long time ago,_ Doyoung wants to say. It’ll be a lie. But his mind is currently busy taking in what’s happening, it renders him speechless.

“To Bangkok?” the attendant asks after checking Yuta’s ticket.

Doyoung hides the surprise in his face. _Bangkok._ There could only be one reason. From how Yuta tenses up, Doyoung is pretty sure he’s right. 

“Yep,” Yuta replies simply.

“Wow.” Doyoung smirks. “We’re still heading off in different directions, right, hyung?” 

The grin falters on Yuta’s face. If he heard some venom in those words, he wasn’t imagining it. Doyoung hit a sore spot. In this extremely bizarre twist of fate, he figures he shouldn’t be the only one getting attacked with the horrors of the past.

The attendant eyes them for a moment. “Are you two, like… friends or…?”

 _We’re exes. Can’t you tell by the tension?_ Doyoung thinks, but he just scrunches his nose. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Yuta—fuck him, honestly—flashes her another bright smile. He puts an arm around Doyoung’s waist and answers, “We’re boyfriends.”

The attendant whistles softly and mutters under her breath, “Goodluck with that.”

Doyoung barely catches it. “What did you say?” He was about to reach out and snatch her collar, maybe even get himself jailed for violence or destruction of public property (or both, who knows), but Yuta tightens his grip on his shirt before he could even take a step.

“Stop it, Doie,” the older mumbles in Korean.

Doyoung is suddenly stuck between wanting to melt and punching Yuta. (He’s more inclined to do the latter.) He doesn’t want to admit it but he loves being called Doie. It just hits him differently, like proof that someone holds him close to their heart; a rite of passage through his icy walls, so to speak. In all his life, only three people have ever called him that consistently: his mom, Taeyong, and, unfortunately, Yuta. Perhaps breaking up doesn’t mean breaking old habits. Doyoung wonders if Yuta still remembers its significance, but he doubts it. After all, it’s already been two years.

“What are you even doing here?” he hisses.

Yuta just shrugs. _Trust me,_ he mouths.

Doyoung is dying to say no thanks, but his heart is a fickle little thing. Apparently, the lonely years are not enough to forget everything. He can pretend all he wants, but the stupid thing in his chest is and has always been a fool.

“The earliest flight to Bangkok is at 4AM,” the attendant says.

Yuta asks Doyoung about his flight details. When Doyoung tells him about the twelve-hour wait, Yuta chuckles softly and asks the attendant if she could bump him to later flights instead. She explains there are no more first class seats available on later flights. Yuta shrugs and says he’ll be fine with flying coach. So now he’s scheduled for a 7AM flight.

Doyoung frowns when he hears the downgrade. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

Yuta just ignores him. He steps in front of the younger and begins to sort the other arrangement. Three minutes later, they’re assigned a room with twin beds (thank god) because those are the only ones available, and are given complimentary meal coupons. Yuta convinces Doyoung to get his essentials and have everything else checked in. Doyoung agrees because it seems reasonable enough. And by the eighth minute since Doyoung shut up, they finished their business with the attendant and finally got out of her sight. 

“See, quick fix,” Yuta mutters with a smug smile as he walks away.

Doyoung trails behind him. “What the fuck was that?” He falls into step with the older. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

Yuta sighs. “You could be a _little_ more happy to see me, you know.”

"No, I could _not_." Doyoung glares at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, Dons.” Yuta shrugs. “Got my flight cancelled, I want a room to rest in. Simple.”

He’s walking too fast. Doyoung is struggling to keep up. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re _here,”_ the younger points out. “Out of all places, how come I’m seeing you in a country we’ve never even been to?”

“It’s not some weird coincidence. And I wasn't following you, if that's what you're thinking,” Yuta replies. “We were on the same flight.”

Doyoung blinks for a moment. “You were in Seoul?”

Yuta doesn’t reply. They reach the exit, the smell of wet pavement just barely dominating the car fumes in the air. He cranes his head around, searching for something. Whatever it is, he finds it in the distance. He gives Doyoung a quick heads up, grabs his wrist, then runs. A whole 30 meter sprint on wet pavement has Doyoung heaving while Yuta didn’t even break a sweat. If he didn’t have his arms held, Doyoung would have tripped. Twice. 

They’re catching the shuttle service to the hotel, it seems. It’s still empty. “Just arrived,” the driver tells them. “Let’s wait til it’s full? Busy today.”

The two boys nod their heads with a smile. 

Yuta guides Doyoung to the back of the van, letting him take the window seat. When they’re settled, the younger turns to him again. Before Doyoung could even utter anything, Yuta lets out a sigh. “Yes,” he says.

Doyoung stares at him, clueless. “What?”

“Of course, I was in Seoul. We were on the same flight. We should be departing from the same city,” the older says as if it should be common sense.

“But my flight departed from Incheon.”

Yuta chuckles lightly, gaze dropping on his hands. “You still love to nitpick every detail,” he mutters. “I was in Seoul, then I went to Incheon, then I rode the same flight as yours. Happy now?”

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Still doesn’t explain a lot of stuff,” he mumbles.

Yuta tilts his chin up. “Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air. “Why were you in Seoul? Why were you even in Korea? Are you back? On a vacation? Even if you saw me here, why’d you come up to me like that? Why do you have to tell the attendant we were… like—” he makes a face. “You know!”

Yuta laughs, eyes crinkling. His hand falls onto Doyoung’s knees, making the latter tense up. “You were being mean to her! I could hear your nagging voice from a mile away and I already knew it was you. I just had to save her.”

Doyoung makes a sound between hurt and disbelief. “She was giving me an attitude!”

“She was just doing her job.”

“She was throwing me unsolicited comments!”

“I bet you started it.”

Heat rushes to Doyoung’s face. He racks his brain for a better argument but he finds nothing. He sighs before pointing out that at least he didn’t make any personal remarks whatsoever. But Yuta only stares at him. That’s not enough of an excuse, obviously. So Doyoung just lets out a long breath, sinking into his seat like a balloon deflating.

“Just saying, Dons.” Yuta gives his knee a gentle squeeze. “It wasn’t her fault the flight’s cancelled. You should’ve let your frustrations out somewhere else.”

Doyoung scoffs, “Would you rather it be you?”

“Hey, I’m not the one to be blamed for this either.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know. The Pacific Ocean?”

Doyoung grunts. “Then fuck the Pacific Ocean.”

☼ ☼ ☼

**6 years ago.**

“Fuck!” Doyoung shouts as he sees a figure appear a few meters in front of him. When the person turns around, Doyoung doesn’t think twice. He pulls the trigger then _BAM._ A ball of blue paint splatters on the intruder’s chest armor.

“What the fuck!” the guy— _Oh shit._ It’s Yuta—says. He lifts the face shield of his helmet, disbelief written across his face. “Why did you shoot me?!”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Doyoung reasons, already panicking.

Yuta marches towards him. “Baby, I know you didn’t want to be dragged here, but it was _mostly_ Ten’s fault, okay? Let those frustrations out on him! He’s the enemy. _Literally!_ ”

“No! I swear I didn’t know it was you,” Doyoung whines. He is actually quite enjoying paintball.

Yuta takes his helmet off and drops it somewhere beside them. It’s too dramatic, the way he threw it, almost like an action star. “Ten and Johnny are gonna eat you alive without me.”

Doyoung doesn’t care. He was about to scold him about safety guidelines when a series of shots fired nearby. His first instinct is to pull Yuta by the straps of his armor, forcing both their bodies to fit in the tight corner of a fake broken down house. Doyoung has his back against the wall with Yuta pressed against his chest. He looks over the older’s shoulder, trying to see if any of their opponents pass by, his paintball gun aimed at the ready. When he hears a couple of footsteps coming, his breathing stops, his grip on Yuta tightening.

The intruder is out of sight, but judging from the monologue, Doyoung assumes it’s Renjun. “This is such a shit game. I’m so fucking tired,” he bemoans. “Come play paintball with us, Renjun. It’ll be fun, Renjun. Fuck yall liars.”

Doyoung bites back a snicker but the footsteps recede soon enough. He loosens his grasp on Yuta who backs away a little, just enough that he could look Doyoung in the eyes but not so much that he’s too far.

The older smirks, earning himself a glare.

“What?”

“I’m already eliminated, but you still saved me,” Yuta says softly. His grin widens like he just couldn’t stop it. “Told you paintball can be romantic.” He helps Doyoung remove his helmet so he could peck his scrunched up nose.

Doyoung laughs. “Stop being a sap. I was using you as a human shield.”

Yuta makes a face. “Ow?”

Doyoung bows. 90 degrees. “Thank you for your service.” 

Yuta shakes his head, chuckling before turning completely serious a moment later. “Hey, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Making out in here would be so hot,” Doyoung answers without thought.

Yuta blinks. “Well… yeah,” he says. “But also, if I shoot you, you’d be eliminated too. Then we can leave our friends and run away together.”

Doyoung gasps dramatically. He puts sparkles in his eyes. “You’d do that for me?” He bats his eyelashes, much like the dragon from Shrek with insane flirting skills.

Almost immediately, Yuta puts on his actor face—glassy gaze, furrowed eyebrows and all. It needs some work, but damn if Doyoung isn’t a whipped man. “Of course, my love,” Yuta says, equally as dramatic. “You shoot, I shoot, remember?”

Doyoung tries to stay in character, but the look in Yuta’s eyes becomes too much. He gives in a second later, a laugh escaping from his mouth. “God, you’re such an idiot,” he sighs. “I kinda’ wanna make out though.”

The glisten in Yuta’s eyes brighten as another smile breaks across his lips. “You’re really pushing my romantic paintball agenda, huh,” he says. “You love me that much?”

“I love you so much, I’d let you shoot me. Romeo and Juliet kind of shit.”

Yuta frowns. “Romeo and Juliet didn’t shoot each other.”

“Well, in my version, they did,” Doyoung says impatiently. “And Juliet is also a dude. Now, kiss me.”

Yuta snickers, mumbling “Alright, alright,” as if he didn’t want this too. He meets Doyoung’s lips with his, somewhere in the space that used to exist between them. Doyoung is obviously enjoying the kind of desperation that comes with pulling Yuta by the straps of his armor, and Yuta just loves pinning Doyoung against walls in general.

By the time they’re breathless, Yuta pushes Doyoung to walk a few feet away. He aims his paintball gun straight for the younger’s chest. “Any last words?” He squints, all dramatic.

Doyoung raises an arm, as if to shield himself before dropping it to his side in an exaggerated way. He falls down to his knees in fake surrender. “I love you,” he answers in a whisper.

Yuta snorts. “Sap!” Then _BAM._

☼ ☼ ☼

**Present Day, 19:24**

Thunder rumbles in the distance. Doyoung holds his breath, his one hand balling into a fist while the other clutches his phone harder. He hates storms, especially noisy ones like this.

“You okay there?” Yuta asks. He’s staring out the window. Doyoung doesn’t know what for. The view they got is nothing exciting.

“M’fine.”

The hotel room is small, but it’ll do. The sheets are cozy enough even if the twin beds are just a foot away from each other. Yuta allowed him to choose first. It was no question. Doyoung picked the one farther from the window, anywhere away from the storm. He wasn’t about to sleep beside the portal to hell.

Yuta plops on his bed with a grunt. He stares at the ceiling, humming a song under his breath, feet tapping on the carpeted floor. Doyoung looks at him for a moment. The questions from earlier pop in his mind again. Before he could ask, Yuta sits up. He grabs the remote control, and turns the TV on. Some news program is airing. Doyoung squints at the headline. It’s not in English, but he doesn’t need words to understand. They’re showing a satellite photo. The storm is so huge, it’s covering almost the entire country.

“Jesus, that’s some apocalyptic shit,” Yuta mumbles to himself before glancing at Doyoung, eyebrows furrowed. He must’ve seen something not so nice in the younger’s face because he turns the TV off at once. “Sorry.”

Doyoung just shakes his head, muttering it’s fine. _It’s just a storm,_ he tells himself. _You’re inside a goddamn building. You’ll be okay._ But he couldn’t concentrate on whatever he’s pretending to be looking at on his phone. He opens KakaoTalk and messages Taeyong. The latter replies immediately only to send a photo of a sleeping Jaehyun on his lap captioned _‘cute, right? ㅋㅋ.’_ Doyoung replies with a puking emoji. Useless.

“I’m bored,” Yuta announces. “Do you wanna grab some dinner?”

“Not really. I’m still full from the in-flight meal.” 

Yuta grimaces. The meal wasn’t even half as bad as in Doyoung’s previous experiences but Yuta had always been a picky eater. “There’s a mall nearby,” the older says, already putting his shoes on. “Wanna come?”

Doyoung hesitates. He doesn’t really feel like walking around.

“It’s not far. I could see it from the window.” Yuta walks to the vanity mirror. Doyoung still hasn’t gotten used to his new clean look but just… wow. He only realizes he’s staring when Yuta meets his eyes through the reflection. “So?”

“I think I’ll stay here.”

Yuta stares at him, unbelieving. But when Doyoung doesn’t say more, he just shrugs and says, “Suit yourself.” He takes the extra key card before walking to the door.

Doyoung tries not to watch him leave, the scene becoming a little too familiar for his liking. A beat passes before he realizes the sky doesn’t seem to agree with his decision. Lightning strikes somewhere near. The window lit up brightly for a split second. Doyoung counts to three before the boom of the thunder follows. Like a fool, he trembles.

“Hyung, I changed my mind,” he shouts, scrambling to put his shoes on. “I’m coming.”

Yuta pauses by the door. There’s uncertainty in his eyes, Doyoung recognizes it. But Yuta’s lips break into a kind smile. He holds a hand out for Doyoung to take.

It’s his turn to think twice. Ball in your court, Yuta seems to be saying. But Doyoung still remembers the last time he held those hands. He remembers it hurting. Maybe one day he’ll forget, but right now, he’s too afraid of anything more than forced civility. He decides not to play.

  
  


☼ ☼ ☼

  
  


**5 years ago.**

Doyoung looks up from his phone as Yuta settles into bed beside him. Yuta’s been staying over so often now. He even got his own toothbrush and drawer. Maybe it’s time they talk about moving in together. Soon. Not tonight.

Tonight, he’s more curious about other things, thanks to the most random articles on Buzzfeed.

“Hyung.” He nudges Yuta with his toes under the blanket.

Yuta gasps, scrambling away. “Cold! Jesus, what’s your blood made of, ice?”

Doyoung considers it for a moment. “Possibly,” he replies before going back to his original trail of thought. “I have a question.”

“What?” Yuta turns the lamp off before snuggling closer to Doyoung.

“Do you have fears?”

Yuta’s answer comes a little too quickly that Doyoung is convinced he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Losing you,” he says.

Doyoung blows raspberries. “Lame!”

Yuta shifts away just to shoot him an incredulous look. “What, that’s not what you’re looking for?”

“No! I meant, like, phobias and real fears and stuff.”

In the dimness of the room, Yuta’s features are barely visible, but Doyoung can tell he’s frowning. “The fuck? Mine’s as real a fear as any!”

Doyoung makes a frustrated sound. He pinches Yuta in the arm. “You know what I mean!”

Yuta groans and flicks his hand away. “Well, what’s yours then?”

“Thunders, like those loud ones,” Doyoung answers simply. “And lightning.”

“So rain?”

“No, storms.” It started when he was a kid. Little Doyoung wanted to be a scientist, but he watched a movie about a bunch of astrologists wearing lab coats dying in a huge storm. He had nightmares about it.

Yuta juts his bottom lip out and nods as if he was just told something he already knew. He settles back in his place beside Doyoung, pulling the younger closer against him. Doyoung listens to his heartbeat, learning to be comfortable with the silence. He counts every gentle pound, and when he gets to seven, Yuta speaks again. 

“Snakes.”

Doyoung looks up at him. “Hm?”

“I’m really scared of snakes.”

“Cool,” Doyoung chuckles, a little surprised. “To be fair, I’m scared of losing you, too.”

☼ ☼ ☼

  
  


**Present Day, 19:51**

Doyoung doesn’t understand how a group of fancy jugglers ended up performing in the middle of the mall. He also doesn’t remember how he and Yuta ended up among the crowd so enticed by the show. In the back of his mind, he wonders if it would be a good time to ask about Seoul, but Yuta seems too in the zone that it makes Doyoung think twice.

Soon enough, the funky music ends and the jugglers bow in gratitude. He joins the applause, but the show doesn’t seem to be over. A man starts introducing himself as some sort of magician. Doyoung stifles a yawn. He’s not bored, just tired.

Despite the booming music around, he hears a phone ring somewhere. Yuta’s, apparently.

Doyoung sees the subtle shift in his expression. It’s ridiculous how he could still recognize it, the slight clench of his jaw and the small movement of his nose. It’s even more silly that he still understands what it means: whoever’s calling, Yuta doesn’t like them.

“Stay here, okay?” he tells Doyoung. “I’ll be right back.”

Doyoung isn’t given a chance to reply. Yuta disappears even before he could open his mouth. _Well,_ he thinks to himself with a sigh, _it’s not like it’s the first time he left with less of an explanation._ There’s no use complaining, so he just shifts his attention to the rest of the performance. At least, he tries to.

It ended about ten minutes later. The crowd thinned pretty quickly, and soon enough, the only one left unmoving was Doyoung. He looks around, trying to gain sight of Yuta. He realizes he doesn’t remember which way they came from. He whips his phone out, unsure of what to do. He doesn’t have Yuta’s number. It probably isn’t the same as the one he used to memorize by heart. _Used to,_ because Doyoung gets rid of stuff he no longer uses.

He stares blankly at the screen before doing another look around. If he leaves the space to look for Yuta, they’d just end up losing each other. But why does it matter anyway? It’s not like they planned on being like this together. They’re practically half strangers now. He owes Yuta absolutely nothing, not even an acquaintance to the mall. Why couldn’t he leave?

Doyoung groans to himself. He’s about to give up. But then a hand shoots in front of him, holding out a Starbucks cup. His eyes trail along the arm of the holder, gaze burning with irritation and a bit of something else.

“Where have you been?” Doyoung demands.

“Sorry. Line got long,” Yuta reasons.

“You just answered a phone call!” 

“Hey, I’m back now. No need to be mad.” He straightens his arm, as if pushing the coffee cup out of his grip and into Doyoung’s.

Doyoung still doesn’t take it but he could already smell the aroma of coffee rising through the small opening on the lid. He bites back a moan and glares. “Why did you buy me coffee?”

“Your attitude says you need it.” Yuta shrugs. “Don’t worry. It’s your usual order.”

Of course, it is. Doyoung sighs. “I don’t drink coffee anymore.”

Yuta clicks his tongue. “Come on, just take it.” He grabs Doyoung’s hand and forces it to hold the cup. 

“No, hyung, I’m serious.” But he tightens his grip around the cup sleeve, his cold fingers enjoying its warmth. “Do I look like the type to decline free coffee out of spite?”

Yuta thinks about it for a moment. “Yes,” he decides. 

Doyoung scowls.

“You’re really serious?” Yuta asks after a beat. He watches Doyoung nod before asking, “Since when?”

“Like, two months ago?”

Yuta frowns. “Why? This stuff used to run in your veins.”

“I know,” Doyoung mumbles. “But I started getting palpitations, so...”

“Oh.” Yuta puffs his cheeks then blows it out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You can just throw it or—”

Doyoung doesn’t know what he’s thinking, or if he’s even thinking at all. He tries to blame it on fatigue again, but he thinks it’s more because of the coffee smell. Whatever it is, he puts the lid to his mouth and takes a nice, long sip. The warm liquid flows down his throat, raising the temperature inside his chest. It feels nice. He bets the caffeine that’s about to kick in would feel nice too.

“Or drink it like that.” 

Doyoung exhales fully, clearly satisfied. “God, I didn’t know I needed that.”

Yuta throws an arm in frustration. “Are you _crazy?”_

“Calm down. One cup won’t hurt,” Doyoung mumbles. He takes another sip, but he does it sloppily this time. The coffee excites him somehow. When he parts the lid from his lips, a small droplet trails down his chin. Careless.

Yuta quickly pulls his sleeve down and dabs it on Doyoung’s skin. The white cloth now stains light brown but Yuta doesn’t seem to mind. “What if you get palpitations again?”

Doyoung doesn’t answer. He can’t. Is that a rhetorical question? He isn’t sure. He stops breathing for a second. His knees tremble again, but it’s nothing like how it did when the sky was roaring earlier. This one’s a different kind of weak, like his knees forgot how to stand but it’s doing so anyway; like waiting in line to ride a huge rollercoaster and your fear of heights just loom overhead. You nearly piss yourself off from overthinking only to realize it’s not the height that’s scary, it’s the fall.

 _Too much,_ Doyoung thinks, _That touch was too much._ The blush on his cheeks, he could blame on the caffeine. But the palpitations? That’s Yuta’s fault entirely.

  
  


☼ ☼ ☼

  
  


**5 years ago, Chuseok Day**

Doyoung stares coldly as Yuta holds out the landline in front of him. “No,” he says for the sixteenth time that day.

“Call them!” Yuta forces the phone into Doyoung’s grip. “They’re your parents.”

“I don’t care,” Doyoung groans, balling his hands into fist.

“They’re worried about you!” Yuta presses on a specific part of Doyoung’s wrist and it forces his palms open. He takes advantage of Doyoung’s shock and places the phone in his hold. 

Doyoung’s jaw falls slack. “What kind of voodoo shit was that?!”

“Dunno, I used to do it to my sister as a kid.” Yuta shrugs. “Call your parents. It’s Chuseok Day, for fuck’s sake. You should be celebrating with them.”

“They lied to me.”

Yuta shoots him a look.

Well, they _kinda_ lied. Three months ago, Doyoung found out from a family friend that his father became sick for a while and had to undergo surgery. He confronted his parents, thinking they would deny it. His father tried to, but the truth was obvious from his mother’s face. It was nothing major, they said. They just had to remove some gallstones. His father explained that they didn’t want to burden Doyoung when he was busy preparing for the board exams. They knew he’d want to help cover the expenses even with his small intern allowance, and they couldn't let him. So they asked his brother to keep it a secret too.

Doyoung felt betrayed. He deserved to know about his father’s condition, didn’t he? He had the right to be mad and upset. He had the right to refuse to call them on such a familial day such as Chuseok. Yuta seems to agree to an extent, but he also knows better.

“Come on, Doie,” he coos. He pulls Doyoung to his lap and plants some kisses on his shoulder. “I just don’t want you to regret anything. Just a few minutes of conversation is enough.”

Doyoung grunts.

“If my parents were even half as thoughtful and understanding as yours, I’d—”

“Alright, alright! I’ll call them,” Doyoung grumbles. “You don’t have to pull the shitty parents card. God.”

Yuta snickers. He knows exactly which charms to use in specific situations and Doyoung is starting to want to punch him for it. “You want me to stay?”

Doyoung shakes his head. This is one of the things he’d rather do alone.

Yuta kisses him on the cheek. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

When he leaves, Doyoung thinks of backing down. But then he imagines the immense pressure Yuta’s parents had always put on him, so much that he feels guilty of just being him; so much that the knowledge of the role Doyoung plays in their son’s life would probably drive them mad with hatred and disgust, enough to disown their beautiful boy; so much that he has to hide. 

Doyoung shudders at the thought. His parents may suck at decision making sometimes, but at least they’re willing to love and accept Doyoung for who he is. Unconditionally.

He sighs one more time before he finally hits the call button. It rings twice before his mom answers. Doyoung misses her voice, he tells her so. His mom sounds happy, but Doyoung’s pretty sure she’s crying. She says sorry. A lot of sorries. Then she calls his father. He sounds constipated at first. Doyoung asks if he’s fine. He says he just misses him. He says a thousand sorries too. Doyoung is sure his father is crying as well. Soon, he cries too. He’s never heard his father cry. He says sorry, then he tells them he’ll visit next month. He says sorry again. His father tells him he loves him. Doyoung cries some more. In the background, his mom panics about burnt tofu. They laugh together, then finally, they say goodbye.

Doyoung drops his head to his hands. He breathes twice before standing up and walking to the kitchen. There he finds Yuta enjoying a juice box. He stands by the entry way for a little too long, hoping his boyfriend would get the message.

He did. Doyoung doesn’t understand how easily Yuta understands him. He also doesn’t get how he knows what Doyoung needs even before Doyoung can admit it to himself.

Yuta stands up, arms already open. He engulfs Doyoung in a hug. It doesn’t matter who’s taller, Doyoung buries his head on the crook of Yuta’s neck, his fingers gripping hard on the back of his sweater. Yuta smells like grapes. Even that comforts him, too, somehow.

“You okay?” he asks, a hand running gently along Doyoung’s spine.

Doyoung swallows a sob. “Thank you.” He doesn’t know what better else to say.

☼ ☼ ☼

  
  


**Present Day, 20:37**

Yuta decides to try out a Japanese restaurant just for the hell of it. He sits across Doyoung, legs crossed under the table, his torso weighing on one elbow while the other arm is busy sorting his bento box.

From this point of view, Doyoung can see him clearly. Perhaps too clearly. He notices every shift in the other’s expression. Right now, it’s saying one thing: the food isn’t Japanese enough for his liking.

It’s painfully silent at their table. Doyoung has never been so annoyed to hear the crunch of his tempura as he is now. It gnaws on his skin, like a reminder that the comfort he used to find in the silence between them is no longer there. In his reverie, he doesn’t realize he’d been chewing wrong. Pain shoots up his tongue. It makes his eyes sting.

“What’s wrong?” Yuta’s eyebrows furrow. “You look like you're about to cry.”

Doyoung blinks furiously. “I bit my tongue.”

Through his still blurry vision, he sees Yuta’s shoulder relax. “Man, I thought…” The older sighs, before donning a smirk. “I used to bite your tongue a lot, but you didn’t seem to mind then.”

Motherfucker. 

Doyoung chokes on his food, cheeks spasming allowing two tiny grains of rice to escape through his lips. _Fuck._ He’s horrified, but Yuta is unfazed. He’d seen him worse, so he just chuckles. And when he realizes Doyoung is having a hard time killing the coughs, he gives him some soda to drink.

Doyoung forces himself to swallow. He finishes the drink in a few gulps. It’s Yuta’s anyway. “Fuck you,” he grumbles.

But Yuta just laughs some more. When that beautiful sound dies down, the painful awkwardness returns to their table once again.

Yuta is staring, Doyoung can feel it. And he’s still smirking, still amused that he could still make him flustered as easily as that. Doyoung wants to punch it off his face. Or maybe kiss it. Whatever, it annoys him. Yuta annoys him. The little reminders of their past annoys him, the gestures, the remarks. Meeting him by accident miles away from his hometown annoys him.

“Now, you look like you wanna murder me,” Yuta says.

As always, Doyoung doesn’t have enough patience for the bullshit. “Why were you in Seoul?”

Yuta makes a sound between a sigh and a groan. “Don’t kill the mood, Dons. I’m enjoying my _karaage._ ”

Doyoung snorts. “Liar.”

☼ ☼ ☼

  
  


**4 years ago.**

“I don’t love you anymore,” Yuta grumbles, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Liar,” Doyoung accuses. He just beat his ass in Mario Kart, loser washes the dishes.

  
  


☼ ☼ ☼

**Present Day, 21:14**

Yuta asks Doyoung if he has pajamas. Doyoung answers yes, but they’re in his suitcase. Do you want to buy pajamas, Yuta asks. Not really, Doyoung replies. Let’s buy pajamas, Yuta says anyway.

They’re inside a fancy looking store of some brand Doyoung can't pronounce. The smell of the shop alone is expensive. In fact, the mall itself smells expensive. None of the shops look like they’re meant for the middle class, so Doyoung has been thinking of committing arson for about thirty minutes now.

“This is cute,” Yuta says, holding a light gray pair.

Doyoung reaches for the price tag. His jaw drops. It’s fucking expensive! On top of arson, maybe theft is also a good idea. (He doesn’t know why he’s been thinking of doing crimes a lot. The frustration is at an all time high.)

“I’m not buying that,” he tells Yuta who just points at the huge sign hanging above.

Doyoung eyes it skeptically. It says the pajamas are a couple's set. “It’s His&Hers.” He scrunches his nose.

Yuta shows him a different packaging. _His &His. _ And another. _Hers &Hers. _

Oh. Well. Okay. Bare minimum, he thinks. But at least the shop is kinda progressive. Maybe Doyoung can hold off the idea of arson. Theft is still on the table though.

He picks up a dark blue pair and—oh shit, that feels good against his skin—he wonders why Yuta thinks it’s cute. It’s not really the first adjective that comes to mind. “Cute” belongs to the animal onesies or those with prints of fruits or cartoon characters, the ones Taeyong likes to wear just because. These, however, are just… fancy. Plain fancy. And expensive. And if pajamas can be described as pretentious, it’ll be that too. 

Why is he even thinking so much about pajamas? Why make a big deal of it? He’s just picking a set with Yuta. His ex. A pajama set. For couples. For _any_ kind of couple because apparently the brand is progressive. He wonders what kind they are. 

He tells a lame joke about capitalism and Yuta laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the world. It makes Doyoung’s heart skip a beat, makes him want to kiss him. But he can’t. Why? Because that part of their lives is over. Doyoung’s chest boils. With spite? Maybe. Longing? Possibly. Pain? Definitely. 

A hopeless couple, he believes, that’s the kind they are.

Yuta pulls him out of his head. “Is that your pick?”

Doyoung shrugs. He doesn’t care. Yuta takes it anyway.

On the counter, Doyoung insists on paying. Yuta tries to fight him over it, but a death glare shuts him up quickly. When the cashier hands them the receipt and the fancy looking paper bag, Doyoung says thanks. Then he turns to Yuta and says, “Now, you owe me something.”

Yuta chuckles lightly, as if to say he should’ve seen this coming. But he just shrugs. “Fine,” he tells Doyoung. “What do you want in return?”

Simple. “What were you doing in Seoul?”

“Ah.” The smile falters from the older’s face. They exit the shop, just walking aimlessly now.

“So?” Doyoung nudges. 

Yuta isn’t meeting his eyes but he answers anyway. “I came back about nine months ago.”

“Nine months,” Doyoung echoes, hiding the surprise in his voice. They’ve been at a considerable distance from each other these past nine months and he had no idea. Wow. “Just you?”

“Yeah. Who else?”

Doyoung doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how to without revealing that he hasn’t really let go of the old life he so claimed to have completely left behind. He’s weak, but no one has to know. Not even Yuta, especially not him. So Doyoung doesn’t ask about Johnny or Ten. He pretends he’s forgotten their friends, _his_ friends. He pretends it didn’t break him when they stopped talking to him too after the breakup. He pretends he didn’t lose himself for two months.

He also doesn’t ask about the girl—Izumi, he believes. He saw a photo of her tucked in the corner of Yuta’s wallet back when they were still together. A childhood friend, Yuta told him before. It was true, at least at the time. But the pictures from last year were captioned in a way that made Doyoung think maybe she’s more than just that now. He’d deny it if anyone asked, but he still remembers that day vividly, when he finally decided he was strong enough to check Yuta’s SNS again. 

Izumi is pretty. That much is undeniable. She has beautiful brown hair, plump lips, a kind smile, and eyes so huge and dark that it just _pops._ Yuta didn’t talk much about her before. He just said they grew up together. Her wealthy family is great friends with his wealthy family. He never said it as it is, but Doyoung knew what that meant: if the time comes that the Nakamotos have to marry off their only son, it would be to her. Perhaps Yuta’s heart found a way to make it less burdening for him somehow.

Doyoung should be glad. It doesn’t mean he is. Foolish, really. He broke down on the floor crying, then he broke open a bottle of soju because it just felt right. He finally decided to give up hoping, to stop waiting. He sucked at it, but eventually it worked.

He shakes the memory off. “Why did you come back?”

Yuta shrugs. “Felt like it,” he replies. “My hometown was starting to suck.”

That makes Doyoung smile somehow. He feels horrible. “I thought you’ve always hated it.”

“Well, it’s a complicated love-hate relationship. It’s like how you love rain, but hate storms,” he explains. “Visiting Osaka is fine, but actually living there makes me sick.”

There’s something about the way Yuta spoke that gnaws at the walls of Doyoung’s gut. He chews on his lip. “Did something happen while you were there?”

Yuta lets out a laugh. It sounded forced. And dead. Doyoung knew the answer even before Yuta could say it. “Same old,” Yuta answers. “Shitty parents. This time, featuring my insane sister.”

Doyoung could only pretend to understand.

☼ ☼ ☼

**3 years ago.**

Yuta gets a phone call in the middle of dinner. He and Doyoung are out on a barbecue grill. They were having fun just moments ago, but when Yuta checked who the caller was, his mood deflated like a popped balloon. He declines it the first time, so Doyoung assumes it’s nothing. But it comes again. And again. And again. And again, until Doyoung finally convinces him to just “Answer your goddamn phone or I will.”

Yuta sighs and excuses himself.

After watching the older walk out, Doyoung snickers at the _samgyeopsal_ on the grill. Finally, he thinks. Yuta is one hell of an eater. He doesn’t dine food, he inhales it. It’s about time for Doyoung to get his fair share. But then he remembers it’s his turn to pay for date night so the celebration isn’t really of any use. He enjoys the food nonetheless.

He’s made himself about seven _ssams_ and consumed about a quarter bottle of soju, Yuta still hasn’t come back. It’s not good, his gut says. Doyoung doesn’t listen. He waits for five more minutes.

Five minutes stretches to six, which isn’t really much of a difference if he’s not Kim Doyoung, but he is. So the extra minute makes him worry. He tells the auntie he’ll come back, he’ll just check something outside, but she won’t let him go. He tries to argue but the auntie reminds him of his mother, so _he_ lets it go. He pays for the meal instead and adds two orders of yangnyeom beef for takeout.

He finds Yuta near an alley about two stores away. He was about to scold him, but he stops in his tracks when he hears him shout. Doyoung doesn’t understand what he’s saying, it’s in Japanese. But he sounds mad. _Really_ mad. Doyoung isn’t sure if it’s just the language but he thinks he’s never heard Yuta this angry before. It scares him a little, and Doyoung doesn’t scare easily.

Yuta sees him a moment later. His eyes widen momentarily before he shifts his focus back on his phone. Somewhere in Yuta’s speech, Doyoung catches a harsh goodbye, then he hangs up.

“You okay?” Doyoung asks when he’s finally close. 

Yuta’s eyes are glistening but he’s trying to blink it away. “I’m fine.”

Doyoung holds his hand. It feels like the right thing to do. “Who called?”

Yuta sighs, hollow. It’s a weird kind of pain, like hearing your voice echo in your childhood room on moving day because suddenly it’s so empty. “My sister,” he answers.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. He’s never heard Yuta talk about any of his sisters. He just knows they exist. “What was it about?”

“Same old,” Yuta grumbles. “Shitty parents.”

 _Ah._ That’s enough explanation. “I’m so sorry.” Doyoung doesn’t know what else to say. Yuta doesn’t need words anyway. So he hugs him instead. It works better. Yuta holds onto him tightly, almost bone crushing.

Doyoung is suddenly reminded of when he asked Yuta about his fears some years ago. He remembers laughing it off. But perhaps it’s true. _It’s as real a fear as any,_ Yuta told him back then. He thought it’s ridiculous, but not so much now. He doesn’t know why it even crossed his mind. His gut tells him it’s connected somehow.

But again, he doesn’t listen.

☼ ☼ ☼

  
  


**Present Day, 22:00**

It’s been ten minutes since Doyoung and Yuta decided to go back to the hotel, but they’re still stuck by the mall’s valet. They’re not waiting for their car, obviously. They just couldn’t find any other place outside the mall with a shed. The downpour is much harder now. There’s no way to get through without getting everything wet.

Doyoung is starting to grow impatient. He feels sticky despite the relatively cool weather, and his phone is dead. He’s been strolling around with his ex for the past three hours, and despite the coffee, he desperately wants a nap. At the moment, comfort is in that tiny hotel room of theirs and nowhere else.

Somehow, Yuta seems to have sensed his deflating mood. He gives him a smile before asking, “You have extra clothes in your backpack, right?” 

Doyoung frowns. “Yeah,” he answers, "but why does it matter?"

“Wanna brave it?” Yuta nods towards the street. “I don’t think it would take us a minute to get to the lobby if we run.”

Doyoung stares at him, mouth open. “Are you serious?”

There’s a glint in Yuta’s eyes, excitement at the mere thought of doing something because no one is to stop him. Like mischief managed, Fred and George kind of shit. It’s contagious. It lights up his entire face in a blinding smile, and soon enough, Doyoung feels the fire inside of him too. He misses it.

So he doesn’t think much and nods his head. “Okay,” he answers, purely driven by instinct. Then he takes Yuta’s hand. He blames that on instinct too. It just feels right, his brain says. Apparently, Yuta thinks so as well. He smiles at Doyoung, then he counts.

“One, two. Ready?” 

“No, shit, wait!” He tucks the pajama paper bag inside his hoodie. “Okay, go!”

“Three.” They run.

It’s wet and slippery and Yuta is screeching loudly like a baby eagle crying for food, but it makes Doyoung’s heart soar. He pays more attention to his steps, to the splashes of rainwater on their legs. It’s kinda gross, but perhaps it doesn’t matter. Braving the storm with Yuta—that’s literally it, like some overused metaphor in a YA novel for something they failed at years ago, but he likes it. Even the teenager-in-love vibe of it all, he likes it.

He’s not supposed to, but he does.

Then suddenly, the sprint is over. The hotel lobby welcomes their wet and shivering bodies with its warm lights and faint jazzy blues. The night is once again just a stormy night and Doyoung is once again reminded that this is just a fear of his. But then he looks to his right, and he sees Yuta laughing in that open-mouthed, high-pitched, almost maniacal kind of way; the laugh that only comes when he’s god-tier excited. It’s absurd, really, how Doyoung calms himself at the sound. 

He only realizes he’s staring when Yuta returns his gaze. The giggles die on the older’s throat, leaving only the slight upturn of his lips and the sudden flicker of his eyes. The air crackles around them, charged with a sort of energy that feels like repulsion and attraction at the exact same time. Doyoung can feel it prick on the back of his neck. When Yuta stands up straight and looks at him properly, he sucks in a breath.

“You okay?” Yuta asks, smirking.

“Yeah.” Doyoung feigns bravery. “Are _you_ okay?”

Yuta chuckles, his breath lightly fanning over Doyoung’s skin. “Never better, Dons.”

☼ ☼ ☼

**6 years ago.**

Yuta suggests something ridiculous. “Let’s throw a coin on the fountain and make a wish.”

It doesn’t sound wrong, no, not really. People throw coins and make wishes on fountains all the time. Except the fountain currently in question is a tiny three-tier indoor fountain that’s about less than two feet high placed outside the Office of the Dean of Engineering and Architecture—you know, the type that are usually left alone.

Doyoung wonders how long Yuta has been waiting for him and how insanely bored he’s become to come up with such an idea. They were supposed to have lunch together, but Doyoung was summoned by the dean to talk about a fundraising event. Yuta offered to pick him up even though the College of Humanities building lies on the other side of the campus. He said he needed the walk.

Doyoung searches for any signs in Yuta’s face that says he’s kidding. He doesn’t find any. “Are you serious?” he asks anyway.

Yuta pulls two coins from his pocket in response. 

Okay then. Doyoung takes one. He holds it with both hands, like a delicate little treasure. He places it close to his lips, almost touching, but not quite. He doesn’t know why he’s trusting a coin, but he closes his eyes anyway. He thinks simple, because life's complicated enough as it is. He searches his mind for what he wants, it’s always the same image that appears.

A beautiful house on a grassy hill, the sound of children laughing, arms wrapped around his waist from behind. A life so perfectly simple, with contentment found in every step. Before, it was just a passing dream. He doesn’t care who he creates it with. But Yuta giggles beside him and he realizes he wants that in the picture too. For a long, long time. He wants to hear Yuta laugh and make Yuta laugh and he wants to bask in its sound. He wants that house with Yuta, that hill, that life. So he makes his wish: Yuta, happiness, the long run. He tosses the coin, it lands on the water with a plop.

When he opens his eyes, the subject of his thoughts is looking back at him. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Doyoung frowns. He knows that look. “Did you wish for some cliche romantic shit again?”

Yuta snickers. “You bet I did.”

“What did you wish for?” They start walking down the hall, Doyoung always a step or two ahead. Yuta is holding on to the straps of his backpack just so he doesn’t lose him.

The older hums. “That I could kiss you under the rain one day, Romeo and dude-Juliet kind of shit.”

Doyoung scrunches his nose. “They did that?”

“I don’t know. Probably?”

Despite the heat rushing to his face, Doyoung still feels the need to hide his blushing. He frowns. “Lame!”

Yuta makes an offended sound. “What did _you_ wish for?”

“I’m not telling you, it might not come true.”

“I told you mine!”

“I didn’t force you to.” Doyoung shrugs.

Yuta rolls his eyes. He looks upset, but Doyoung knows he’s just being dramatic. He takes his hand anyway. When they finally reach the exit, they stop by the door.

It’s drizzling. Not quite raining, just a little shower of light droplets. Yuta tugs on Doyoung’s arm. He knows what he’s thinking. He’s not sure if he likes the idea, but he goes with it anyway. They run under the faint downpour, careful not to slip, and just before they could get to the comforts of the dry sidewalk, Doyoung pulls a break on his steps. His fingers, still intertwined with Yuta, made the older halt his running too.

“What?” Yuta asks.

Doyoung doesn’t reply. He steps closer, he gets rid of the distance. Then he kisses him. Slow and soft, but that only lasts for a while. Something about the drizzle makes this seem more romantic somehow. Perhaps Yuta is right for his fountain wish. The thought makes Doyoung greedy. He pulls on Yuta’s shirt and drags him closer, the already deep kiss still not deep enough. He feels Yuta smile against his lips, then the giggle comes until his grin is stretched so wide that Doyoung could no longer kiss him properly. 

He pulls away, just half breathless.

“Wow,” Yuta exhales.

“Wow,” Doyoung echoes. He pecks him on the lips one more time. “Now you have to grant my wish, too. Okay?” 

Yuta still doesn’t know what it is, but he nods his head anyway. “Okay.”

☼ ☼ ☼

**Present Day, 22:39**

Doyoung sits on his bed with his back against the headrest and his legs sprawled in front of him. He just got out of the shower, and well, the expensive pajama set kinda makes him want to kiss capitalism’s ass. The slide of the cloth against his skin is just… wow. He almost wants to thank Yuta for suggesting they buy it. But then he remembers having to spend so much on something so simple, and it just irks him.

He can’t do anything about that now though, just as much as he can’t do anything about the thunders. So he just clutches the sheets with one hand and his phone with the other, both in anxiety and frustration. He tries to concentrate more on the faint sound of Yuta singing in the shower and less on whatever apocalyptic shit is happening outside. After a while, Yuta finally comes out of the bathroom, all fresh and clean, and Doyoung cannot believe he’s thanking the higher beings for this kind of distraction.

Yuta stays by the bathroom door for a moment, hair still half-wet with his towel hanging over his shoulder. He’s checking himself out on the full body mirror, trying to be subtle about it, his usual dramatic poses substituted by slight tilts of the head and little movements of his lips. It makes him look silly. Doyoung is surprised he’s still used to Yuta’s narcissistic tendencies.

It’s kinda cute though. Perhaps this is what Yuta meant when they were choosing the pajama sets earlier. Doyoung catches himself mid-thought. _Shut up,_ he tells himself. _He looks like a wet kitten, nothing else._ Then he spends two minutes trying to convince himself that wet kittens are not cute.

“It’s rude to stare, Dons,” Yuta says.

“Do you not get sick of yourself?” Doyoung sighs, glaring.

“I don’t know.” He tilts his head. “Am I someone you could easily get sick of?”

“Should you really be asking your ex that?” Doyoung scoffs. “Come on, hyung. Don’t set yourself up.”

Yuta finally tears his gaze off himself. His turns to Doyoung, eyes glinting with something between surprise and amusement, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wow,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He retrieves a hanger from the closet and places his towel there. “I just haven’t heard you address yourself as… that, you know? It’s… like… yeah.”

“What?” 

“Nothing.”

“You haven’t heard me call myself your ex.”

Yuta sighs. “Yes.”

“And you’re flustered about it.” Doyoung chuckles.

Yuta rolls his eyes.

“But we _are_ exes.”

“Last time I checked, yeah.”

Doyoung scrunches his nose. “And whose fault was that?” Cold. Tactless.

Yuta looks away. It was too late though. Doyoung already saw his eyes. And like everything else that danced on Yuta’s face, he recognizes this one all the same. 

Doyoung chews on his lips. He didn’t mean to sound so accusatory, but he also doesn’t understand why he feels guilty for saying it as it is. Yuta was the one who wanted the break in the first place, so why is he acting like he’s the one that was hurting? Doyoung doesn’t understand that either. Nevertheless, the guilt makes him want to take back what he just said.

He was about to declare his apologies when the window lit up again, jarringly white. Doyoung holds his breath until the thunder comes, less of a rumble and more of a clap. He tries to fight the shiver that runs down his spine, but it’s difficult when the sound shakes his ribcage and pounds on his heart.

The fear must have been evident on his face because Yuta was quick on his feet. He rushes to Doyoung’s side, blocking his view from the window. He looks at the younger with creased eyebrows and concerned eyes, and Doyoung isn’t left with much choice but to meet his gaze. 

“You’re okay,” Yuta says. It isn’t a question.

Doyoung nods, eyebrows also furrowed, not in concern, but in confusion. “I’m okay,” he confirms.

He’s gotten better at controlling his fear, mostly because he feels ridiculous about it—how a grown man can be terrified of thunder and lightning this much. But it’s not like it’s something he can control. It’s like yawns or, if he dare be so real, farts—it just happens. You can do your best to hide it, but it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

This stupid fear is especially harder—almost impossible, actually—to ignore when he’s seen a satellite image of the goddamn storm eating up the whole country. But because he’s Kim Doyoung whose pride can be higher than the Everest if he wants it to be, he tries anyway.

So he sits on his hands to hide the fact that they’re shaking, and he breathes through his nose to try and even them out. He forces a smile because why the hell not, only for his entire facade to shatter when Yuta tells him to scoot over and his stupid ass obeys without question.

Yuta settles beside him pretty easily, pulling the covers over his legs and all. When his toes touch Doyoung’s after inching a bit too close, he flinches. “Fucking hell,how are your toes always ice cold?” he complains.

“I just got out of the shower.”

“No, _I_ just got out of the shower. You’ve been under the blankets for the past fifteen minutes,” Yuta retorts.

“Well, I didn’t force you to sit beside me,” Doyoung snaps back. “I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Yuta grumbles. “I could see your bunny nose trembling. I’m being a nice roommate, making sure you don’t freak out.”

“By invading my personal space?”

Yuta clicks his tongue. He lifts the covers from his legs and swings his feet to the edge of the bed. “I could go. Just ask, really. It’s not that hard.”

For a second, pride glues Doyoung’s mouth shut. He watches Yuta scooch until the only thing touching the bed is his butt. When he’s about to stand up, Doyoung finally breaks. “Fine,” he says aloud.

Yuta stares at him, clearly annoyed. “Fine what?”

“You can stay here,” he grumbles.

Yuta lets out an empty laugh. “You make it sound as if _I’m_ the one who needs it.”

Doyoung shrugs. “It’s debatable. You hate sleeping alone.”

The older gasps dramatically. He points to the space right beside Doyoung. “So you want me to sleep here?”

“Wasn’t that what _you_ were suggesting?!”

“I was just planning to keep you company until the storm passes, but if you want me to sleep here, then who am I to say no?” Yuta flashes that goddamn smile of his with a mix of mischief and fondness, and it makes Doyoung want to pull all his hair out but it also makes him wanna kiss Yuta. It _sucks._

“You’re an ass.”

Yuta snorts. “That was all you, Dons,” he replies. Under the blanket, Doyoung feels him crossing his legs over each other. “So, does talking still calm you down?”

“I got more stressed talking to you than when the lightning hit,” Doyoung deadpans.

Yuta grins wider. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

☼ ☼ ☼

**4 years ago.**

Yuta convinces Doyoung to order Chinese takeout after their unreasonably intense game of Mario Kart (and their equally intense makeout session thereafter). Something about the enthusiasm with which Yuta asked makes Doyoung suspicious, but he agrees anyway just because he couldn’t be bothered to think of what to eat for dinner.

The food arrives, they enjoy dinner in silence. When it’s time to clean up, Doyoung realizes something. “You were supposed to wash the dishes!” he whines as he crumples some tissue paper.

Yuta snickers. “I was, but not if there are no dishes to wash.”

Doyoung groans. “You’re such an ass!”

“A genius,” Yuta corrects. He’s smiling that way again, with the kind of arrogance that might make one think he could take over the world while holding onto Doyoung’s hand. Doyoung somehow manages to hate and love him for it, both at the exact same time.

“An _ass.”_

“An ass you’re in love with so whose loss is it, really?”

Doyoung only groans louder as he stomps into the kitchen, his fondness disguised as frustration. In the background, Yuta cackles loudly.

☼ ☼ ☼

**Present Day, 22:51**

“So what’s in Sydney?” Yuta asks.

They managed to bicker about absolutely nothing sensible for the past ten minutes. They’re only getting to the actual talking now.

“A conference,” Doyoung answers.

“About?”

“Architecture. What else?” He frowns.

Yuta shrugs. “Who knows, maybe you got into some other stuff in the past few years. You do like going into big shot conferences for fun.”

“I didn’t choose this one though. The firm I work for sent me instead of someone else,” he tells Yuta who just nods.

“My point still stands.”

“Fair enough,” Doyoung concedes. In college, he signed up for six conferences when he could get enough credit for two. One of those was not even related to his major at all. He doesn’t understand what he finds so fun about them either. “What about you?” he asks, looking at Yuta. “Why Bangkok?”

Doyoung could feel Yuta hesitate. The latter doesn’t look back at him, choosing to focus on his hands instead. The answer is simply too obvious, but Doyoung felt the need to ask anyway. Perhaps Yuta could sense his unease too. The older gives him a small smile.

“Ten and Johnny,” he answers, voice soft and low.

Doyoung pretends he didn’t see it coming. He pretends their names don’t stir a certain bitterness in the pit of his stomach either. “Ah,” he says. “What about them?”

“They invited me. Actually, they paid for the flight,” Yuta explains. Okay, that, Doyoung didn’t expect. From what he remembers, Ten is stingy as fuck. “But they didn’t plan this. Us meeting like this. Here. I mean, you know. They always did weird stuff to get us to talk after the…” He clears his throat. “The breakup. But this one’s not on them.” He tilts his head to stare at the ceiling. “At least I _think_ it’s not.”

Doyoung laughs. It’s genuine this time. It’s silly how Yuta felt like he had to explain. “I’m pretty sure it’s not,” he says. The fact that he hasn’t spoken to either Ten or Johnny in the past two years goes unspoken. “Ten may be a genius but even he couldn’t predict something like this. It’s the ocean’s fault, like you said.”

“Ah, so it’s the ocean playing matchmaker tonight, I see,” Yuta smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Doyoung smacks him on the chest. “The ocean is not your friend. No match is being made today, Moana.”

“And yet," Yuta caresses the sheets, "I am already on your bed.”

Fucking hell. Doyoung would’ve whined and complained, but the retort catches him off guard. All he could do is grin. He belatedly realizes he’s blushing. No wonder Yuta looks so pleased with himself.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he bites back after a while. “We’re both fully clothed in our _pajamas._ ”

 _“Matching_ pajamas,” Yuta corrects. “And when did outfits matter? I used to fuc—”

“Okay, enough!” Doyoung cuts in, a hand flying to cover Yuta’s mouth. 

Yuta nods, eyes wide. Doyoung gives a few more seconds of staredown before finally lifting his hand away. Yuta lets out a heavy exhale. “Sorry,” he says, half-wheezing. “Got carried away there for a moment.”

Doyoung ignores him. The best way to move on from the awkward resolution after an argument is to pretend the argument never happened in the first place. Foolproof approach, really. “So,” he says, trying to change the topic as soon as possible. “What’s with Ten and Johnny?”

“Oh. Um. They’re getting married,” Yuta replies. He says it so casually almost as if he’s just telling Doyoung about the food he had for breakfast.

Meanwhile, the younger’s jaw drops. “Married?” he echoes, unbelieving. “Like, _married_ married?”

 _“Married_ married,” Yuta nods. “Rings and vows and all.”

“What the fuck,” Doyoung mutters to himself. It’s not like he’s against the idea of Ten and Johnny finally sealing the deal by putting a ring on each other’s fingers. No. Quite frankly, it’s the opposite. He’s more than happy for his friends—well, former friends(?). It's amazing how they have finally gotten in this chapter of their lives. No one deserves those two more than they do each other. The perfect pair, really.

But there’s also something else sitting in the corner of Doyoung’s chest. He can’t tell exactly what it is. Regret, maybe? Doyoung doesn’t even know why they drifted apart. Sure, Johnny and Ten were Yuta’s friends first. But he shared memories with them, too. Do they count as nothing? Perhaps. Months after the breakup, he stopped hearing from Johnny then from Ten. He didn’t even know those two were engaged. What the fuck.

Then there’s also envy. Johnny and Ten started dating only a few months after Doyoung and Yuta made it official. They became their go-to double date buddies; their “we’ll-share-our-cookies-with-you-if-you-bring-us-some-drinks'' movie night buddies. Years ago, Johnny and Ten were the ones with a rocky relationship. Those two broke up thrice in Ten’s senior year of college alone. Their fights happened so often that Doyoung and Yuta started to make bets about it. _5000 won if they break up,_ Doyoung always said. Yuta would always accuse him of being a pessimist before saying something so specific that it’s twisted like, _5000 won if Ten cries but they won’t break up because Johnny would be like, ‘No, baby, I’m sorry’ and Ten would take him back in an instant._ Yuta won more than Doyoung did.

And now, they’re getting _married._ Johnny and Ten. Married.

Meanwhile, what used to be the perfect couple Doyoung & Yuta now sit with an air of awkwardness around each other after having broken up for the past two years. They could not be farther from marriage than they are now.

It twists a vein inside Doyoung’s chest. It makes him want to get drunk and throw up and cry, maybe even dance to a sad song while hugging a bottle of wine. It hurts, that’s it. It hurts because that’s how far they could’ve gone.

It hurts because Doyoung knows they could’ve made it. He’s sure they could. They had plans. Lots of them. A house. Maybe some kids. A future. The whole deal. Doyoung still doesn’t fully understand exactly when and why Yuta decided to give up on it all. Even if he says he’s moved on, even if he pretends he’s forgotten, it’s clear from the way his eyes sting and his throat closes up that there are parts of their past that will always have him hurting. 

_Always._

Under the sheets, Yuta places a hand on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Doyoung would be lying if he says he didn’t expect it. He knows Yuta can sense him spiraling. He doesn’t want to assume, but he hopes Yuta has thought about the same things too. If Doyoung couldn’t have the dream he originally planned, he hopes Yuta at least regretted not granting it.

He exhales loudly, blinking aggressively. He doesn’t glance at Yuta’s direction, afraid of what he might let him see. So it surprises him a little when the older speaks, “Could’ve been us, right?” Yuta says. It’s a trap. 

Doyoung badly wants to take it. But he decides to set one himself too. “Aren’t you glad that it’s not?”

Yuta holds his hand a little tighter before forcing out a laugh. “Come on, Dons. Should you really be asking your ex that?”

Doyoung only smiles, but he doesn’t answer. 

Perhaps not. Definitely not.

☼ ☼ ☼

**3 years ago.**

“A house on a hill?” Yuta echoes after Doyoung. “And it really has to be on a hill?”

 _“Preferably_ on a hill,” Doyoung clarifies. “But it could be anywhere, you know. Like a field or near the ocean. Or even in the middle of the goddamn city. I don’t know.” Since the moment Yuta picked him up for work, he’d been ranting about one of their clients. It had been a stressful day in general, but this man in particular just makes him want to explode. He sighs. “That idiot can’t even make up his mind.”

Yuta chuckles lightly. He takes Doyoung’s hand as they round a corner. “Sounds like a handful,” he mumbles. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Dons.”

“Of course.” Doyoung scrunches his nose. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“Exactly.” Yuta grins.

They stop walking in front of a toy store. Doyoung was about to ask why when Yuta raised an arm to call for a taxi. When they managed to get one, the younger asked instead, “Where are we going?”

“Ten’s. He invited us over.” Yuta answers before frowning. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Doyoung shakes his head. 

“Shit, must’ve slipped my mind,” Yuta mumbles. “I thought I told you over the phone.”

Doyoung shrugs as the two of them settle in the backseat. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” He did think it would be a date night, but a small get together with their friends doesn’t sound so bad. It’s been a while since they hung out after all. Life after uni had been challenging for all of them, especially Johnny’s. He’s still having second thoughts whether to further his degree into law school or not. Perhaps they all need this break.

“So, your client,” Yuta says, a hand lightly slapping Doyoung’s thigh and letting it rest there.

“Fuck him,” Doyoung replies without thinking. He slips his hand under Yuta’s palm and intertwines their fingers. “I don’t wanna talk about him anymore.”

The older laughs. “No, I’m just saying… if I were him, I’d build my house on a hill too.”

Heat rushes to Doyoung’s face. He suddenly remembers a harmless wish he made upon a penny some years ago. “You would?”

“Yeah. I mean, you know, if I finally get sick of apartments and decide to settle down, I’d love to have a house on a hill,” he muses. “And mine really has to be on a hill.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Yuta nods. “Will you design my house too? I will only be half the pain in the ass that your client is.”

Doyoung snorts. “I doubt that.”

“Design my house,” Yuta repeats, tugging on his hand like a child insisting to have some candy.

“I don’t know,” Doyoung wants to tease, so he sets a trap. Harmless, but not really. “Do I get to live in it?”

Yuta makes a sound as if Doyoung just called him out for something he didn’t do. “Of course, idiot. Do I look like I wanna grow old alone? You’ll be my driver.”

Doyoung smacks him on the chest.

“Ow! I’m kidding.” Yuta guffaws. “We both know you suck at driving.”

Doyoung smacks him again, harder this time.

“AH—fucking hell. Stop it,” he groans, grabbing Doyoung by the wrist. “I’ll marry you, then we’ll adopt, like, two kids, then you’ll design us a house on a hill. There. Deal?”

Doyoung can’t help the smile on his lips as a warm fuzzy feeling grows inside his chest. It tickles. The thought of a future with Yuta tickles, as weird as that sounds. “Three,” he says.

Yuta makes a face. “What?”

“Three kids,” Doyoung looks him in the eyes. A challenge, maybe? “We’ll adopt three kids.”

“Jesus,” Yuta mutters, laughing lightly. His grip loosens around Doyoung’s wrist. “Fine. I was hoping to avoid the middle child thingy.”

Doyoung frowns. “But you're a middle child.”

“Exactly, and look where it got me.”

“It got you to me, asshole. You shouldn’t complain.”

Yuta only rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You’ll pay for the third one’s college tuition.”

Doyoung doesn’t even think twice. Suddenly, he can’t wait to spend that money. “Deal.”

☼ ☼ ☼

**2 years ago.**

Doyoung grunts as he stands up from the couch, stretching his trunk. The first movie just ended, and none of them are even half drunk yet. Ten snatches the remote before anyone can, browsing for the next film. “Another round?” Doyoung asks the group. He receives a chorus of affirmation in reply.

“Can you make more popcorn too?” Johnny asks. Beside him, Ten mumbles in agreement. Doyoung shrugs and sighs.

“I’ll help,” Yuta says, also standing up from his seat. 

But Doyoung places a hand on his chest. “I can handle four beers and a bowl of popcorn by myself,” he tells his hyung before pecking him on the cheek. “Just stay here.”

So he goes alone. He places a bag of popcorn in the microwave, punching the appropriate settings before retrieving four beer bottles from the freezer and uncapping them one by one. He takes a sip from his bottle, leaning against the kitchen counter, listening to the silent thrum of the microwave.

Except that isn’t the only thing he hears.

There’s a small chatter in the living room, Ten’s voice dominating the other two. “He has to! Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“What if I am?” Yuta laughs. Doyoung has no idea what they’re talking about, but his boyfriend’s voice sounds cold.

“How long do you plan on keeping it like this?” Johnny asks this time, his tone several notches gentler than Ten’s.

“As long as I can,” Yuta says.

“It won’t work,” Ten tells him. “I’m telling you. You’ll hurt him either way.”

Hurt who? Why will there be hurting? Doyoung hears the couch creak harshly, then something slams on the table. “Jesus, shut the fuck up, Ten. You’re too loud,” Yuta snaps. He clicks his tongue. “I’m trying to find a way.”

“Oh really?” Ten hisses. “Because last time I checked, you still cower at the sound of your father’s voice. You claim to be this no-fucks, independent piece of shit and all, but at the end of the day, you’re still your parents’ son. Sure, your sister’s the one bugging you now. But what if one day, it’s your dad who calls? What will you do then? What will you tell Doyoung?”

Doyoung sucks in a breath at the mention of his name. What is there to know? He’s aware of the calls from his sister. He’s aware Yuta’s been ignoring them. But what isn’t he telling Doyoung? Why does it make Ten panic? Ten doesn’t panic about anything besides Johnny. So what the fuck is going on?

The sudden _ding_ of the microwave sends a shock through Doyoung’s body. He drops his beer bottle, and it lands on the floor with a smash. He hears the sound of hurried footsteps but his mind is still trying to process the mess before him. Yuta appears by the kitchen doorway but Doyoung holds an arm up to stop him from walking further. “You might hurt yourself,” he tells him.

Yuta doesn’t listen. He maneuvers his way to Doyoung, tiptoeing around the broken glass. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just accidentally knocked it over,” Doyoung laughs. He hopes it sounds convincing enough.

“You sure?” Yuta’s eyebrows furrow as he crouches a little to check their feet and the floor. 

Doyoung pulls him up to a stand, placing his palms on either side of Yuta’s face gently. “I’m fine,” he says again. He mirrors Yuta’s worried expression, thumb caressing the angle of his cheekbones. “Are you?”

Yuta nods but a crease remains in the middle of his eyebrows, a pout on his lips. Doyoung kisses them both away. Yuta seems to feel like he has to return it, so he gives Doyoung two kisses too. Doyoung pretends it removes his worries. He smiles.

“Popcorn’s ready,” he tells Yuta, stepping away. “You get it, I’ll clean this up.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “‘I can handle four beers and a bowl of popcorn by myself,’” he says mockingly. “Liar.”

Doyoung makes a poker face. “Don’t pretend you don’t like how you ran in here cause I suddenly needed you.”

“Please, who are you kidding?” Yuta snorts. “I know you always need me.”

Doyoung forces a smile. _Do you though?_ he wants to ask, but his gut tells him not to. For some reason, he listens to it this time.

☼ ☼ ☼

**Present Day, 23:19**

Doyoung believes it should be a general rule that if two people who used to be in a loving, committed relationship with each other accidentally met at the most random occasion, talking about their past relationship should be _strictly_ off-limits. If there _is_ a rule as such, well… he and Yuta clearly didn’t get the memo.

Perhaps, he should’ve seen it coming. It’s late at night, they have nothing else to do, and the only common ground they can talk about is their history, that’s it. The proximity and familiarity disrupts the weak chains of closure they forced upon their relationship two years ago. Doyoung should’ve known it was bound to break.

Unfortunately, it takes a whole ass Nakamoto Yuta on his bed and a series of boisterous thunder for him to realize that they opened an entire pandora’s box. What’s in the box, you ask? Nothing, just Yuta offering the safety of his arms against the stupid storm and Doyoung taking it because 1.) he’s scared and 2.) what harm can it do? A _lot,_ apparently. Then again, he didn’t get the goddamn memo. (Or he chose to ignore it, whatever.)

So now, they’re crammed together on a single bed when there’s a perfectly empty bed available just a foot away. All because Yuta said, “You can hold me. No one will get mad,” and Doyoung thought it would be foolish to say no. There’s a huge storm outside, for fuck’s sake. To be fair, he also refuses to say they’re cuddling. Yuta is just simply holding him close as an extension of his courtesy. Nothing more.

Nevertheless… “You’re a little shit, you know,” Doyoung mumbles.

Yuta chuckles lightly. “I’ve been told,” he says. “By you. A lot.”

Doyoung nods. “Good.”

The quiet thrum of the air conditioning fills in the awkward spaces of their conversation. Yuta is tapping his fingers randomly on Doyoung’s back. He’s playing with his lips, Doyoung can hear it. He wonders what he’s thinking about, but Yuta speaks before he can ask.

“Doie.”

Doyoung exhales sharply. “Yeah?”

“Are you mad at me?”

Doyoung hums, completely missing the fragility of Yuta’s tone. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far. I’m mostly annoyed, but that’s nothing new. Why?” He cocks his head up to look at Yuta, frowning. “Should I be mad?”

Yuta tucks his chin in to look at Doyoung better. “Well, I mean—” He looks away. “I would think so?”

“What, why?” The crease on Doyoung’s forehead deepens. He sits up, still facing the older as he pulls his legs underneath him. “Did I sound offended by anything earlier? You know I just tend to sp—”

“No.” Yuta pushes himself up too, his back now against the headrest. “I didn’t mean _today._ Just in general, you know.” He plays with his fingers, clearly avoiding Doyoung’s gaze. “Are you mad at me…?”

 _...for leaving you,_ goes unsaid but Doyoung can hear it anyway. He gulps. Suddenly, there’s no escaping the elephant in the room. It’s stomping loudly like it doesn’t know what better else to do. “Ah,” he utters. “Well…”

It’s a stupid question, really. It’s like asking him if the sky is blue or if he’d die for coffee given the chance. It’s rhetorical. If it’s not, it should be. Except he’s not sure which point Yuta is trying to make. He just knows he doesn’t want to answer it.

Doyoung sighs, shoulders deflating. “What do you want me to say, Yuta?”

Yuta shrugs. “The truth?”

The truth. Doyoung chuckles emptily. “Why don’t you answer it?” He tilts his chin up. “I’ll paint the picture for you. Pretend you’re me.”

“Dons...”

He ignores him. “Imagine you’re waiting inside your apartment on a completely normal day. You have a movie picked out, you ordered take out for two. You think nothing could go wrong. You’re just waiting for your boyfriend of almost five years, your best friend, someone you planned your future with. You get excited when he arrives at your apartment. You greet him with a kiss and an inside joke, but he doesn’t smile. He says you have to talk.

“You try not to panic, but deep inside you _know._ Something’s been going on with him for a while. You thought it wasn’t anything big. So you agreed, it’s just talking. You think it can’t be _that_ bad. Then, just out of the blue, he tells you he wants to break up. He says he doesn’t love you anymore. Just blatantly crushing your heart like that without any decent explanation,” Doyoung’s voice breaks but he still smiles. “How would you feel then?”

The two of them are blinking furiously now. When Yuta calls his name again, it sounds almost like a plea. He reaches out for Doyoung’s hand, but the latter pulls his arm away. Suddenly, a touch is once again too much.

Not for the first time tonight, his eyes sting and his throat closes up, but he feels something clawing its way out. The question he’s been asking himself for the past two years, over and over like a broken record. The source of his insecurities. The reason why he still couldn’t imagine himself loving anyone else. Maybe he can demand for an answer now. He has to at least try.

“How would you _feel?”_ he repeats through gritted teeth.

Yuta’s gaze drops to his hands. “I’d hate you,” he admits softly.

Doyoung presses his lips in a tight line, shrugging with one shoulder. “At least you know.” 

☼ ☼ ☼

**2 years ago.**

Doyoung’s ears are ringing as if something massive just exploded. Like a blinding clap of lightning and the deafening roar of thunder that follows, it makes his breath tremble and his knees weak. The last sentence Yuta spoke still echoes in his head. Perhaps it _is_ some kind of explosion.

“We should break up,” Yuta told him. He didn’t even bother to take his shoes off. The two of them are still by the door, too close to the exit, too far from home.

Doyoung thought Yuta was joking at first. At least that’s what he wanted to believe. It’s ridiculous. No one breaks up just because. Especially not him and Yuta. It has to be a joke. “Funny,” he feigns laughter. “Take off your shoes. The food is getting cold.”

“Doyoung, I’m not…” Yuta sighs, looking down on his feet. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Doyoung blinks, his mind still struggling to figure a way out. “No.” He shakes his head. “Stop messing around. What the hell are you talking about?”

Yuta clicks his tongue. When Doyoung reaches out for him, he steps away, quickly avoiding Doyoung’s touch as if he’s contagious. The younger looks up at him, confusion painted on his face. “Hyung…” the pleading begins. He forces a smile, but it just breaks him. “You’re kidding. This is a joke, right?”

Yuta’s lips quiver. “I’m sorry, Doie.”

“Hyung.” He tries again, ignoring how his entire body is shaking. “What happened? What did I do? I’ll fix it, just tell me.” He reaches for Yuta again. He didn’t pull away this time. “What’s going on, baby, hm? Is it because of the other night, when I got mad? Is that it? I’m sorry. I was just afraid you’ll get sick. I didn’t—”

“It’s not that,” Yuta cuts in before letting out a deep breath. He’s crying too, but Doyoung still doesn’t understand why. “It’s not anything,” he continues. “I just… I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Doyoung doesn’t move. He waits for Yuta to take it back. He has to. It makes no sense. Sure, he noticed something’s bothering him lately. He’s been waiting for him to talk about it. Yuta always does. But Doyoung always thought it was about his sister. It can’t be about them. They were just talking about what-ifs the other night. _What if I propose next year?_ It was Yuta who asked that. Doyoung replied, _why wait?_ Yuta just laughed and kissed him. People don’t change their minds that quickly, right? This is all a stupid prank. Maybe Yuta just wants to get back at him. He’s not sure what for, but Yuta will take it back. He will.

Except a minute passes by, then two. Neither of them says anything. Doyoung’s world is crumbling apart and all he could do is cry about it. He still understands nothing.

“What did I do?” He sobs. “Tell me, hyung. Please. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t, Doie. Please,” Yuta tugs his hand away from Doyoung’s hold. At least he’s trembling too. That counts for something right? Something scares him as well. Doyoung just has to find out what it is. He has to make it go away, just like how Yuta hugs him to sleep whenever there are thunderstorms. 

Another try. “Yuta.” Another sob. “Please. I have to know. I’ll fix it, whatever it is. Just tell me and you won’t have to worry about it again. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were having these… thoughts. I thought we’re okay. I didn’t know, hyung. Please.” His knees are bending on their own. 

“Doyoung.”

He’s desperate. “We’ll find a way. Just tell me. We’ll talk about it, okay? Where did it go wrong?”

“Nothing went wrong.”

“I don’t get it. Then why—”

Here comes the explosion. “I don’t love you anymore!” Yuta snaps. _BAM_. Jarring, loud, and lethal. The aftershock is almost ironic, Yuta asks, “Happy?!”

Doyoung’s entire face goes blank. The pain doesn’t register just yet, just the flashy detonation of it all. So he still has half the guts to accuse Yuta. “Liar,” he says. A last resort. A dumb weapon of choice.

His arm shoots out, grabbing Yuta by the collar and pulling him close. Doyoung is seething, and Yuta thinks he could just get away with such a ploy. “You kissed me yesterday,” he says through blurry eyes and gritted teeth. Even that sounds pleading. “You said ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ I said I’ll pick the movie. And you tried to argue with me, but in the end, you said whatever. Then you kissed me.”

Yuta is fighting against his own tears. He’s doing much better than Doyoung is. “What’s your point?”

Doyoung decides to fuck all the emotions he has. “You _kissed_ me,” he says again, as if repetition would drill it to Yuta’s brain and he’d finally understand. “You still loved me yesterday,” he cries, desperation clinging to his every word. 

“You don’t know that.” Weak.

“Bullshit!” Doyoung shouts, the hand that was previously holding Yuta’s collar strikes a fist on the wall behind him. “Five _years,_ Yuta. You’ve been kissing me for _five_ years. I ought to know when something has changed. How can you stop loving someone overnight?”

Yuta puts on a brave face. “What made you so sure it happened overnight?” Doyoung sees the slight twitch of his eyebrow. “Has it occurred to you that maybe you haven’t noticed because I haven’t loved you for quite a while?”

Doyoung shakes his head, refusing to believe. It can’t be true. He’s sure he didn’t just imagine the past few months. They were planning for their future together, the house, the kids, the car. Or was that all a lie? Can Yuta really be that cruel? Is he really leaving Doyoung alone to _daydream?_

“You’re lying,” his voice breaks even further, his entire chin quivering now. “Please tell me you’re lying.”

Like glass bearing too much pressure, Yuta finally breaks. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. 

“Hyung,” Doyoung bemoans. “Take it back. _Please._ ” But Yuta just apologizes again and again, his composure crumbling. Until finally, Doyoung gets sick of hearing it. 

Yuta is begging, too. “Make this easier for me, Doie,” he cries.

 _How fucking dare you,_ Doyoung wants to say, but his tongue doesn’t let him. So he asks something else, he hurts himself some more. “You don’t love me anymore?” A challenge. A trap. A creak in an otherwise sturdy foundation.

Yuta shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Doyoung has had enough of breaking down. He’ll deal with the heartbreak later. For now, he only says, “I’m sorry, too.”

☼ ☼ ☼

**Present Day, 23:36**

“I was,” Doyoung says after a while. He’s sitting beside Yuta now, back also against the headrest. 

Yuta raises an eyebrow at him. It looks ridiculous with his tear-rimmed eyes. Now, he really looks like a wet kitten, goddammit. “What?”

“I was so fucking mad at you.” Even that sounds like an understatement. He’s fucking _furious_. So much that he thinks if he puts enough effort in it, he could tear the fucking duvet in half. He’s sick of the apologies. He doesn’t need them anymore—not that he ever did. “I hated everything when you left because I didn’t understand. I still don’t, but I learned to be okay with it. I figured there’s no point fighting if you didn’t want to stay. So I tried to forget about you.”

Yuta doesn’t meet his gaze. Somehow that makes it easier for Doyoung. “And yet…” Yuta mumbles.

“And yet.” Doyoung nods. He forces another smile. But he still doesn’t feel contented. There were a dozen feelings he tried to suppress that day. There were thousands of things he forced himself to forget. Yuta has to know the kind of shitstorm he put Doyoung through.

“I felt so betrayed, hyung,” he continues. “I never saw you giving up. I never had that insecurity of you leaving, which was stupid of me, apparently. But it’s just…we were in it together. We were so fucking in love. We were _happy,_ weren’t we?” He turns to Yuta and waits for him to nod. “All along, I believed we were endgame. I mean, we already made _plans,_ for fuck’s sake _.”_ He throws an arm in the air for effect. “You know how much I hate not following plans.”

Yuta chuckles lightly. That sounds broken too. “Yeah, you almost punched the airport lady for the cancelled flight—don’t even argue. It’s not her fault.”

“Whatever,” Doyoung grumbles, rolling his eyes. “The thing is… I was really rooting for us. I even went a little crazy and drew us a timeline. I was supposed to give it as an anniversary gift, but you know.” He makes an exploding sound, gesturing with his hands before letting out an empty laugh. 

Yuta echoes the empty laughter. “Is it still with you?”

“The timeline? What the hell do you think I am, a masochist?” _Yes._ He makes a face. “I burned it.”

“Masochist,” Yuta mumbles, chuckling. But when Doyoung glares at him, he forces himself a straight face. “How did it go?”

Doyoung hums, trying to remember. It hasn’t been long since he got rid of it, just a day before their supposed seventh anniversary. That wasn’t even three months ago. “I think we’re supposed to get married by 25, or get an apartment together, whichever comes first. Then by 27, we’ll buy a car then we’ll go on long drives away from the city so we could see the stars better. You like stargazing, right? Then if we’re financially capable by 30, we’d adopt. One or two kids, it depends. Then we’ll adopt again at 33, because we agreed on three, right?”

“Yeah.” Yuta’s eyes sparkle when he grins. Doyoung isn’t sure if it’s from the tears or something else.

“Then by 35, I have to start working on our house. The one on the hill, like you said. It’ll be finished by the time we’re 36 or 37. The kids can grow up there. Then at 40, when we’ve saved enough, we’ll go on a major vacation. Just the two of us, like a second honeymoon.” Doyoung pauses for a while, then he scrunches his nose and tilts his head. “I don’t think I planned anything past 40.”

“Why, you feel like you’d be sick of me by then?” Yuta teases.

“Possibly,” Doyoung replies in a serious tone to which the older only laughs. The glisten in his eyes is from tears, Doyoung is sure of it now. 

“Wow,” Yuta mutters, jagged and breathy. “What do we do, Dons? We should be saving up for a car by now.”

Doyoung entertains the chuckle erupting from his chest. Then he shrugs, unsure of what to say next.

“It sounds like a beautiful life,” Yuta says. A drop of tear decorates his cheek. He wipes it away as soon as it falls.

The alarms in Doyoung’s head light up. He fights every urge to move closer, to touch Yuta’s cheek, to console him and tell him it’s not his fault. He couldn’t, of course, because it was. This is what he wanted. Doyoung had no say in it at all.

“I really loved you, Yuta,” he utters, voice so soft it could easily be missed. “I wanted you to be the one so bad. I’m not even religious, but I prayed for it. God, I—” he lets out a shaky exhale, “...I _loved_ you so much, you made me hate my life when you left.”

Yuta doesn’t answer, but Doyoung could hear him trying to kill the sobs in his throat. It disarms him enough that when Yuta holds his hand out, palms up and waiting, he doesn't even think twice before slotting his fingers on the spaces between the older’s. Then, like a fool, he lets his head rest on Yuta’s shoulder. When he hears him suck in a breath, he thinks perhaps he disarmed Yuta, too. 

“You were right, Dons,” he mumbles. “I lied.”

Doyoung hums.

“About not loving you anymore. I lied about it all.”

It sounds silly coming from his mouth that Doyoung can’t help the giggle he lets out. “No shit,” he replies sarcastically. “I called you out on your bullshit since day one, but you really wanted to drill it into my brain.” He scoffs. “It worked though, I kinda believed you. I just didn’t know what made you do it, and somehow, that hurts me more.”

This time, it’s Yuta who shifts away, severing all physical contact. He pulls his knees to his chest, looking anywhere but at Doyoung. “Will you still listen if I tell you the reason?”

The younger shrugs. It’s not like he could say no. His biggest questions have always circled back to that moment. An explanation is far overdue. So he hugs his knees to himself too and waits.

“My sister,” Yuta starts, “You remember when she started calling me a lot?” 

Doyoung nods, bits and pieces of the past flashing through his mind. 

“She was telling me to go back home. She said they found a tumor in my father’s thyroid. It was curable. They managed to catch it early on. But as he was undergoing treatment, he had this epiphany about his life, his marriage, his children, the company—everything, basically—until he came to a point where his old twisted brain figured he doesn’t want to die without seeing his only son get married.” Yuta glances at Doyoung as if to see if he’s still keeping up. 

“He wanted _you_ to get married,” Doyoung mumbles an affirmation. “I’m assuming he didn’t mean to me,” he says, an attempt to hide the shivering he feels inside his chest. He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but his eyes are searching for Yuta’s finger. Was he wearing a ring? 

Yuta sighs dejectedly. “They arranged an engagement for me, I didn’t know. My sister kept bugging me, saying I should do it for our father. I tried to ignore them. I thought maybe if I kept doing so, they’d eventually give up. Ten told me to tell you about it, but I just couldn’t let you go through that. I thought I could fix it by myself.”

Doyoung snorts. “So you thought it’s better to just break up with me out of nowhere?”

“I didn’t plan to, okay?” Yuta whines. “But my sister— _god,_ she’s psychotic. She showed up in my apartment the night before we broke up. She found out about you. She knew you were the reason why I didn’t want to go back, why I didn’t want to agree with the stupid engagement.” He shifts in his seat so his entire body faces Doyoung. He takes his hand in his. “You have to know, Doie, I loved you then. I was proud that I got to love you. I would tell the world about it if I could. But my family, they…” he trails off.

Doyoung remembers that one huge fight they had, when Doyoung went batshit crazy because he thought Yuta was ashamed of him. He accused him of not being serious about their relationship because Yuta didn’t want to introduce him to his family even after he met Doyoung’s parents. Yuta cried so much that day. That’s only when Doyoung found out Yuta wasn’t out to his family. He said his father would kill him. Literally. He refused to talk about it. Doyoung was afraid to ask.

“They would never approve of it,” the younger supplies.

Yuta looks down on his hands. “My sister said she’d tell our father. I didn’t care, he can’t kill me. He’s miles away and he has a goddamn tumor,” he spits. “But then she said she’d also tell him about you. That’s when I got scared. I have no idea what they can do. She and my mom—they’re like my dad’s minions. I just didn’t want them to do anything with you. So I asked her what she wants, I said I’ll do anything as long as they keep you out of it.” Yuta forces a grin. “Romeo and Juliet kind of shit.”

Doyoung hits him lightly in the arm. “You and I should stop pretending like we know what happened in Romeo and Juliet.”

“It was romantic!” Yuta argues, but Doyoung just rolls his eyes. So he chuckles and shrugs. “Anyway,” he sighs. “She tells me to go back home, accept the engagement, and forget you were ever in my life. So I did. I had to make sure you forgot about me, too. I’m sorry I couldn’t think of a better way.” 

Well, it’s not like they could still do anything about it. Doyoung has already moved on. Or at least, that’s what he tells everyone. So he just shrugs and allows his hyung to continue.

“I found out they paired me with Izumi. You know her, right?”

“Of course.” Doyoung hopes Yuta didn’t hear the bitterness in his tone.

“I respect her, Doie,” he mumbles guiltily. “We’ve been great friends since we were five. So I thought maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe I could pretend to be okay with it. She told me I didn’t have to proceed with it if I don’t want to. But it’s not like I had a choice. And Izumi felt like she owed my parents for sponsoring her college fees when their company was going bankrupt. So we tried the engagement.”

The more Yuta explains, the more Doyoung could feel his own endeavors shrinking in hindsight. Before today, he’s been learning to forget. He could go weeks without the thought of Yuta ever crossing his mind. He thought he was over it. He’s strong enough to get over it. So why the fuck does all of this break him still?

“We were okay, I guess? Izumi and I got along well. We were friends before anything. So she knows my heart wasn’t in it. I know she’s just doing it out of duty. But it worked. My father was so happy. I honestly feel like he’d never been more proud of me than he was then. How sick, right?”

Doyoung fights back a snicker. “Considering he has a tumor, I’m guessing pretty sick.” Yuta glares at him this time, forcing him to mutter a sorry.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Yuta sounds exhausted now. “The engagement somehow sped up his recovery. The doctor said his tumor has receded enough that they were able to cut it all out. After that, it was a smooth sail. Now, my dad is even better than before he got sick. That’s how happy he was.”

“Fuck,” Doyoung mutters. “All because you were engaged? That _is_ sick.”

“There’s something crazier,” Yuta laughs. “When news came out that my father is tumor-free, Izumi came to me and admitted she’s been sneaking behind everyone’s back, meeting with her boyfriend even when we were engaged.”

Oh. “So you’re not married?”

Yuta shakes his head. “She said there’s no point in continuing the engagement since my father isn’t dying anymore. My parents were pretty devastated, but she ran away before they could do anything. And I…”

“And you…” Doyoung echoes, “are here.”

“On your bed.”

Doyoung glares. “Did you run away too?”

Yuta hums. “More like running back.” He grins. “To you.”

The younger groans, rolling his eyes. “As usual, being annoying.”

“Being single,” Yuta corrects. “Are you?”

Doyoung blinks. “What?”

“Single?”

“No.”

He sees the light drain out of Yuta’s face. “Oh.”

“It’s been two years, Yuta. Did you think I was gonna wait around for you?”

The older pouts, head bent low. “Honestly? Yeah.”

“God, you’re so…” Doyoung lets out a long exhale, his fingers curling into fists by his side, his chest about to explode. _Please_ give him strength. 

“I’m kidding,” Yuta says sheepishly. But Doyoung knows better.

“I didn’t wait for you,” he says, voice somehow fragile now, “but you also made me forget how to like someone else romantically—Don’t fucking smile. That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Sounded like it,” Yuta chuckles, earning himself a punch to the chest. Then another. He groans. “Stop—ow! Dons!”

But Doyoung just keeps striking and striking, each hit weaker than the last. He doesn’t realize he’s crying. He’s not even sure why. The conversation seemed to have lightened up. But when his first blow lands on the older, he realizes that— _fuck_ —he wants to hurt Yuta too. “I hate you.” A strike with the side of his fist. “I fucking hate you.” Then another. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Then another. “Why did you have to leave me like that?” Then another. “I would’ve understood.” Then—

Before the next fist hits, Yuta grabs his wrists tightly. He keeps a firm grip until Doyoung stops fighting and finally relaxes, his shoulders deflating with a sob.

“I could’ve been there for you,” Doyoung utters. When Yuta loosens his hold on him, Doyoung loses all composure. He scrambles all over the sheets, finding his way onto Yuta’s lap. He snakes his arms around his neck, burying his face at the crook of it. Then he sobs. “I hate you.”

Yuta has the nerve to laugh as he puts his arms around Doyoung’s waist. “Damn, I almost thought we weren’t gonna go through the whole breaking down phase,” he mutters.

“Fuck you.” Doyoung strikes a fist to his back, making Yuta groan. “You’re the one who cried first.”

“And you’re full-on sobbing,” the older retorts.

“You fucking left me!”

“I had my reasons!”

“I didn’t know that! You made me think I was disposable,” Doyoung sobs again. “We were talking about marriage one day, then you left me the next. I was so fucking lost. How do I not _cry_ after that _,_ you little shit?” The teenager vibe is here again, but it’s the annoying breaking-down-in-my-ex-boyfriend’s-arms kind of vibe this time. It works though. Yuta hugs him tighter.

“I’m sorry,” Yuta says, almost whispering. “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

For some reason, despite his tears, Doyoung couldn’t help but snort. He pulls back from where he’s burrowed in Yuta’s neck to show him the frown he’s sporting. “Lame!” he says.

“What—I was being sincere!”

“Okay? Stop saying overused movie lines.”

“You were saying some yourself!”

“It doesn’t suit you,” Doyoung points out. 

“Well, what do you want me to say? I want you back. Does that suit me?”

Pause. Doyoung frowns. “You do?” 

Yuta makes a face. “Yeah? I thought we’ve already established that.”

“Then what have you been doing in Seoul for the past nine months?” Doyoung crosses his arms over his chest. “Why didn’t you look for me?”

That seems to catch Yuta off guard. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. Then he sighs, his arms falling limp from where they’re holding Doyoung’s waist. “Fair enough,” he mutters under his breath before looking up to meet the younger’s gaze. “Well, for starters, I was scared my sister would come after me. But then I kinda made them think I was affected by the whole Izumi situation, so they let me go away to ‘move on.’ Tell me that was genius.” He cracks a grin, raising a hand for a high five, but Doyoung only rolls his eyes. Yuta seems unfazed as he lowers his hand. “So, now, they feel bad about setting me up for heartbreak. My mom calls me every once in a while to check if I’m okay.”

“Cute,” Doyoung comments. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Fine.” Yuta groans. “I did look for you. I found where you’re working—well, Ten did, but that’s beside the point. The thing is… I was scared. I knew you’d hate me. And I saw you on SNS, you were doing so well, Dons. I was afraid that if I just come back, I’ll ruin it all. But then, this…” His expression shifts, bringing out the infamous teasing smirk Doyoung has grown so endeared by. “The ocean wanted it to happen, Doie. You don’t mess with the ocean.”

“Fuck you. Fuck the ocean,” Doyoung grumbles. “It’s been two years.”

“And yet—”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

“—I’m on your bed and—”

“ _And?_ Get out.”

“—you’re sitting on my lap.” Yuta smirks.

Doyoung had just about enough. His face feels too hot now. He could feel the insanely ticklish kind of warmth flowing through his entire body (yes, even to his chronically cold toes). But he couldn’t let Yuta see the power he still has over him. He’s supposed to be upset, goddammit.

So he stands up from the older’s lap, storming to the other side of the room and tucking himself in the unoccupied bed. It isn’t as dramatic as it sounds since everything is literally two steps away from everything else. But Yuta whines nevertheless, his arms trailing where it used to hold Doyoung close.

“Dons,” he calls after Doyoung plops down on the other mattress. “You do realize you’re now on _my_ bed, which somehow sounds worse.”

Doyoung thrashes Yuta’s sheets, groaning. But the latter just cackles, probably still used to this all too familiar scene. He, as Doyoung claims, is indeed a little shit. To be fair, Doyoung is really fun to tease.

“Come back here. What if the thunder comes again?” Yuta whines.

“The storm already passed,” Doyoung replies. He doesn’t actually know. He hasn’t heard any roars from the sky outside for quite a while now. Either that or Yuta’s stupid distraction method was quite effective. 

“How about me? You said it yourself. I hate sleeping alone.”

Doyoung closes his eyes. “Damn, that doesn’t sound like _my_ problem.” 

Yuta whimpers. “I helped you calm down!”

“I didn’t ask you to. I don’t owe you any favors.”

“Jesus, you’re cold,” he hears Yuta mutter under his breath. 

Doyoung doesn’t reply, so the bickering dies with his chuckles echoed by Yuta’s own. Then it’s just quiet. Doyoung is fairly positive the weather has already calmed down. He wonders what time it is, but he finds himself afraid to check—in case it turns out that their time is almost up. As much as this bizarre situation almost split his mind open with a shitload of emotions, he realizes he’s not ready for it to be over just yet. He doesn’t know what happens next. He’s not sure he wants to know.

He wipes the corner of his eyes and sniffles. Yuta seems to have heard it. He calls his name from the other bed. “Doie.” He says it so delicately, Doyoung wants to collapse.

“What,” he groans, hoping to sound at least annoyed. He hears the sound of the mattress shifting from the other side. When he turns to look, Yuta is lying on his side facing him. He looks away immediately, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead.

“I’m sorry,” Yuta replies. “Really.” It sounds so much like a confession, like he’s telling Doyoung he loves him for the very first time; not too out of the blue, but also not blatantly acknowledged that the sincerity shocks him still.

Doyoung exhales through his nose. It breaks his heart, really, all the time they could’ve had together. Wasted. He still thinks he would’ve understood if Yuta only explained. It might be arrogant, but he also thinks he could’ve helped him find a way out of that situation. If not, at least he _knew._ Instead, he spent two years in the dark, questioning where he went wrong, why he didn't see the signs, how it was so easy for Yuta to leave him.

Even if the temptation to just fuck it all and crawl back into Yuta’s arms is immense at the moment, Doyoung doesn’t think an accidental meeting on a stormy night and a declaration of an apology is enough for him to just forgive and forget. He is, after all, Kim Doyoung.

So he smiles in that melancholic kind of way. “It’s gonna take more than that, Yu,” he says softly.

Beside him, he hears Yuta laugh. “I know,” he says. “Glad to know you’re still the same person I fell in love with seven years ago.”

Something inside Doyoung’s chest gallops. Without much thought, his mind replies, _Glad to know you are, too._

☼ ☼ ☼

  
**Present Day, 06:23**

Doyoung feels something pull his backpack from behind. He staggers a little bit. In front of him, the line to Gate 3B progressively lengthens. He whips his head back, frowning. “What the hell?!” he groans. Yuta is looking at him with the silly puss-in-boots-from-Shrek eyes. “I thought we already parted ways. Weren’t you supposed to go and find your gate? I’m about to board.”

“You didn’t say goodbye yet,” the older reasons.

“Well, neither did you two years ago, so,” Doyoung scoffs, but with no real bite. He’s trying to stop the grin growing on his lips.

“Fuck, I knew that was gonna bite me back in the ass,” Yuta mumbles under his breath. He lets go of Doyoung’s backpack, and the latter turns to face him properly. “Anyway,” Yuta says, handing Doyoung yet another cup of coffee. Before the younger could even open his mouth to talk, Yuta beats him to it. “I know, you don’t drink coffee anymore, blah blah blah. But this is mine, I’m just offering you a sip. You look like you need it.”

Doyoung glares at him, but he takes the cup anyway. “I was gonna say they weren’t gonna let me take it on the plane,” he grumbles before enjoying a sip. Doyoung frowns. “This is my usual order.”

“What, you think you’re the only one who can order a medium roast espresso with two shots of hazelnut syrup mixed with a half packet of brown sugar?” Yuta snorts, taking a sip of his own. His face contorts in a way that tells Doyoung the coffee is a tad too sweet for his taste. Yuta forces a smile. “Yum.”

 _Goddammit._ Doyoung hopes to hell he isn’t blushing too much. He pats Yuta on the cheek a little too hard—technically, it’s more of a gentle slap. Yuta scrunches his nose, still smiling. _Cute,_ Doyoung’s mind says. He tells it to shut up. “Thanks, hyung,” he says. Behind him, the attendant is once again announcing the boarding of their flight. “I have to go.”

“Goodbye kiss for old time’s sake?” Yuta puckers his lips.

Doyoung doesn’t save some sarcasm. “Ha-ha.” But he shoves Yuta’s face with his hands and turns away.

“See you in Seoul?” Yuta manages to grab him by the backpack again. “I still owe you the rest of my apology.”

“Oh, you still owe me a _lot.”_ Doyoung tugs on Yuta’s hand until he lets go of the backpack, but his subconscious doesn’t let him notice that he’s still holding onto the tips of Yuta’s fingers.

Yuta grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Doyoung suppresses his chuckles, shaking his head. He takes one step backwards, still not letting go of that last point of contact. “Tell Johnny and Ten I’m happy for them,” he says. “And congratulations.”

“I will.” Yuta nods. “They wanted to invite you, by the way. But they thought you hate them because of me.”

Doyoung frowns. “What, that’s not—” he gets cut off by the final boarding announcement. When he looks back at Yuta, he can’t help the look of apology on his face. “I have to go, Yu.”

Yuta presses his lips in a tight line, and finally they let go of each other’s hands. 

A silent goodbye hangs in the air, intentionally ignored, but so obviously there. For some reason, Doyoung begins walking backwards. Yet another teenager-in-love kind of vibe. Like a summer love ending, except this one’s a ‘stormy night featuring ex-lovers’ ending. It’s getting annoying. (The flush on his cheeks says otherwise though.)

When he gets to where the staff checks their boarding pass, he finally tears his gaze away. But then…

“Dons!”

Doyoung whips around faster than a bullet train. He raises an eyebrow and pretends to be annoyed. But his eyes are sparkling and he knows Yuta could see it too. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Probably not some grand declaration, or a very dramatic prose. But whatever he has on his mind, it’s definitely not as unromantic as what Yuta says.

“I didn’t get your number.”

“Jesus.” Doyoung laughs, eyes crinkling, lips spread so wide that his gums are showing. Like every emotion that flowed through his body for the past twelve hours, he couldn’t fully explain this one either. It’s almost the same ticklish warmth that crawls all the way to the edge of his toes; the kind that makes him want to run and jump into Yuta’s arms, but also makes him painfully aware that he can’t.

Yearning. Perhaps that’s the closest word for it. Silly how it’s triggered by _I didn’t get your number._ (The truth is,Doyoung hasn’t changed it. If anybody asks why, he’ll deny it has anything to do with Yuta.)

“Ask the ocean,” he replies. “You’ll figure it out.”

☼ ☼ ☼

**One year ago.**

Taeyong frowns at his phone, then at Doyoung, then back at his phone. “This doesn’t mean anything,” he says.

Doyoung leans over to check if he opened the right link. Taeyong’s phone screen shows the same thing he’s been looking at from his own phone screen: a photo of Yuta smiling from ear to ear with a woman who Doyoung can only assume as Izumi.

“What do you mean nothing? It says _‘having great times with this one’_ heart emoji.” Doyoung directs the image at Taeyong’s nose.

“It’s a _sparkling_ heart emoji.” Taeyong glares at him. “You’re threatened by _that?_ I thought you were over your ex?”

“I am!” It sounds a little too defensive than Doyoung intended. He sits down on his office chair, sinking against the backrest. He forces himself to tap on his instagram notification feed, but his other thumb returns him back to Yuta’s profile. Perhaps to check if he’s just imagining things? News flash: he isn’t.

Yuta is really with his childhood best friend. Probably dating. Probably more. Meanwhile Doyoung has to pretend it doesn’t boil something in the pits of his stomach, making him want to puke and punch someone at the same time.

“Why are you still looking at the photo?” Taeyong questions. He grabs Doyoung’s phone, force quits instagram, and locks it. “I’m telling you it’s nothing. Sparkling heart emoji? Friends.”

“They _are_ childhood best friends,” Doyoung says. “But whatever. I don’t care!”

“Right.” Doyoung isn’t looking but he knows Taeyong rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t!” Doyoung half-shouts. Kun, from the neighboring cubicle, knocks on the partition and tells him to shut up. Then, in a much lower voice, Doyoung repeats, “I _don’t_ care.”

“Chill! Damn, I didn’t even say anything,” Taeyong snickers. Doyoung glares at him, but he just goes back to scrolling on his phone, a smirk remains on his lips. “But what if, you know, _hypothetically,_ Yuta shows up again?” he muses. “What if, for some reason, he has a plausible explanation for whatever happened? I mean, you said it yourself, he won’t just do that for nothing. So what if he calls you up one day, saying sorry and all that? Then he asks if you’d be willing to try again. Will you?”

Doyoung narrows his eyes at his best friend. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“It’s a harmless question.” Taeyong shrugs, a rather proud smile on his face. He shows Doyoung his phone screen. Somehow, he managed to scroll down Yuta’s profile until two years ago: a candid photo of Doyoung laughing in a field and Yuta’s finger heart held out in the frame. The caption reads, * _finger hearts u for life.*_

Doyoung makes a face. “What kind of clapped caption is that?”

“Judging by the blush on your face, probably one that only _you_ would find amusing,” Taeyong ponders. Doyoung looks away at once. But Taeyong isn’t done. “So, my question.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Will you?”

Doyoung huffs. “No!” his mouth says, but his gut answers differently, _yes, without question._

**Author's Note:**

> wiiieee thank you so much for reading! i had so much fun writing this even though it kinda feels different than my usual stuff, idk haha. anyway i hope you enjoyed it somehow!!
> 
> special thanks to zy for ~~forcing~~ encouraging me to write a doyu fic, and for yxa for keyboard smashing in the dms while reading this :D
> 
> [twt](twitter.com/pandorxsbox) | [cc](curiouscat.com/pandorxsbox)


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